


Behind Closed Doors

by AlyxSvoboda125



Series: The Industry [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: 2016 Summer Olympics, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Arsenal FC, Athletes, Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Dysfunctional Family, English Premier League, F/F, F/M, FIFA World Cup 2018, Family of Choice, Football | Soccer, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Relationship Denial, Romance, Secret Relationship, Social Media, Starting a company, Technology, Texting, Twitter, United Kingdom, computer genius, transgender character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:00:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 60
Words: 200,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2008407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyxSvoboda125/pseuds/AlyxSvoboda125
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Bailey has rules. Don't sleep with the same guy twice, never in the same city (unless he has as much to lose as himself), and never get into a relationship. He's a pro-athlete from a high profile family. The rules are basic survival. He wasn't prepared for Salem. Slated to be the next Steve Jobs, Salem's motivated, goal-driven, and openly gay. After a 3 day affair after winning gold at the Rio Olympics, they just can't seem to forget each other, or stop running into each other now that Salem's spending a year in the UK and working on his business plan at King's College. All they have to do is kept it simple, keep emotions out of it, which is easier said than done when both of them want a hell of a lot more. With hearts and career on the line, they'll have to risk everything for a dangerous friendship that could be more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Blue Light (My Generation)" by Sunderland

**A chance for Britain!**  
The last time that Great Britain boast a gold medal in football during the Olympics was in 1912 despite being tied with Hungary for most gold medal Olympic victories overall.  This year, however, for the first time in over a hundred years looks like it could bring success to the British national team thanks in large part to the dynamic duo of Arsenal teammates, the Belfast-born goalkeeper Carey Ahearn (51), who's been phenomenal in the preliminaries with only one goal in four games, and young star forward, Arthur Bailey (21), who may not be putting up expected numbers but has definitely stepped up and begun creating magical plays.  
  
To: theghostsofsalem@gmail.com  
Cc: thatgeorgiapeach@gmail.com  
From: prayersforpriest@gmail.com  
Subject: Rio  
Sale—  
Your tix are at will call. Text me when you land and be prepared to watch my Brazilian babies kick British behind.  
Max A Million  
  
 **Rafael Correa (@Rafa86)**  
@ArthurBailey @carey_me_home better be ready for Brazilian domination #TeamBrazil #RiOlympics  
  
 **Carey Ahearn (@carey_me_home)**  
@Rafa86 all talk, no action #BringItOn #TeamGB #Rivalry  
  
 **Kanani Kapuana (@Kanani_Pahala)**  
Good luck @ArthurBailey wish I could be there :* #TeamGB  
  
To: chazandstpatty@gmail.com.uk  
From: theghostsofsalem@gmail.com  
Subject: Brazil v your peeps  
Chazzercise,  
Heard you were in the neighborhood (thanks for telling me you ass)  
Brazil v GB pitch side seat...(cuz I know people)  
Be there or be square (make no mistake you already are)  
Sale  
  
 **Text message from Chaz to Salem**  
 **Chaz:** I officially luv u  
 **Salem:** As if you didn't before ;)

* * *

"Are you seriously reading a book during the semifinal match between Great Britain and Brazil?  _Seriously_?"  Georgia demanded, wedging her face between Salem and his way-to-brightly lit iPad screen.   

_Just when I was getting to the good part._

Salem frowned up at his exasperated friend, eyebrows raised and eyes trained on the tiny wisp of a girl decked out in red, white, and blue across from him.   

Georgia was American.  About as all American as a girl could really hope to get right down to her blue-eyed, curly blonde locks, and medium build.  Like a stockier, shorter, decidedly less fake version of Taylor Swift with considerably less talent as far as Salem was concerned, though you'd never hear him say such a thing if he wanted to live to see another day.  Either way, Georgia (from Atlanta, Georgia, which was about as unfortunately as it came as far as names went) did drank beer, enjoyed tailgating, and actually believed that baseball was a sport worth watching.  She could shoot a shotgun, drive a stick shift, and down a hot helping of hamburgers, fries, and a milkshake and still manage not to chip her alternating red, white, and blue nail polish or dirty her gaudy American flag maxi dress.   

She was _that_ special and _that_ patriotic.   

Not to say that Salem _wasn't_ , but he also didn't really like soccer (and yes, he'd call it football until the end of time because he was _American_ even if he was surrounded by pretentious Brits and an assortment of overexcited Brazilians).  It was unfortunate since his close friend and former boyfriend, Maximilian Priest, had finagled seats within spitting distance of the action during what appeared to be a high octane, highly anticipated event.  Salem just couldn't get into it.   

Salem quirked a pierced eyebrow at the girl and replied with a touch too much sarcasm, "Seriously.  And Sin's about to go off on Boyd because he nailed him against a tree during a mission after a like six month long break up then had a total freak out about it being a mistake, but Sin disagrees because he's still in love with the dolt.  Now, can I read their argument and consequent make up sex sequence?  Please?"   

Charles Beck (aka Charlie…aka Salem's best friend) looked over at them at that, tearing his eyes away from the action on the field to smirk at the pair of them.  The California surfer boy look alike child star turned future Brad Pitt had grudgingly escaped the set of his London prime time teeny bopper supernatural soap opera to peruse the Rio de Janeiro Olympic scene in the guise of cheering on his fellow countrymen.  Really, Salem thought he just needed a break from all the gossip monger paps in London who were much more concentrated on juicy Olympic Village drama to care about a lone London film and television star.   

"Are you reading _In Company of Shadows_ again?"   

Yes, Salem had a slight obsession with that book series and might be the tiniest bit in long with Sonny and Ais, the series' writers.  Whatever, if anything could keep him happy in sweltering heat amidst an angsty crowd of thousands it was a hearty, lusty helping of Hsin Vega and Boyd Beaulieu's sexscapades.   

" _Interludes_ ," Salem sighed happily, beaming serenely at Charlie who only rolled his eyes in response.  "Why?  Did I miss something important?"   

"Are you _kidding_ me?"  Georgia demanded in tandem with the shake of Charlie's head and his impassioned, "No."   

Salem waved a pointed hand in Charlie's direction, and Georgia clipped him on the back of the head.  "You may look like a cherub but you're certainly no angel, huh?"   

"I'm a deviant," Charlie remarked with a barbed smile.   

Salem frowned at Georgia, "You totally just ripped off _Mulan_.  You know that right?"   

Georgia rolled her eyes while Charlie grinned, dutifully reciting, "'You may look like a bride, but you will never bring your family honor!'"   

"This is why we're friends," Salem smiled at Charlie who just rolled his eyes and returned to watching the game, genially sipping his watered down Coca-Cola while Georgia fumed.   

" _This_ is the semifinal game between two of the greatest football countries in the world!"  Charlie scoffed at that, and Georgia tossed him a hard look that he pointedly ignored.  Salem glanced between the two of them, bemused, flicking off his iPad and leaning back in his seat, eyebrows raised, awaiting her explanation patiently.  "Don't you get it?  The winner of this game goes onto the gold medal match to play Argentina, and the loser goes off the the bronze medal match against Germany.  If Britain wins, it'll be a shot to win their first gold medal in 104 _years_.  It'll be monumental."   

He blinked at her, still not quite getting her issue with _him_.  "Okay…but you're _American_ so…"   

Charlie broke out into laughter while Georgia sighed like she'd never met someone so dumbly clueless in her entire life, but Salem wasn't too broken up about it.  Georgia tended to have a flair for overdramatic that made even _Charlie_ uncomfortable, and he worked with actors and divas all day, every day.  If he thought she tended towards the ridiculous, then she most certainly did.   

"They're my _adopted_ country," Georgia remarked pointedly.  Salem's eyebrows rose higher.  She sighed and continued, "You know, because I'm going to school there."   

Salem rolled his eyes, "Yeah, your undergraduate degree in business management that's ending _this year_.  What are you gonna do?  Move there?"   

Georgia pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows, giving him a look that clearly begged the question 'what do you think?'  Honestly, he'd _thought_ that after spending a year hiding out from her mother's ultra religious, Southern Baptist family across the ocean for three years that she'd buck up and move back to Atlanta, at least to hold her dying father's hand as he battled lung cancer in Northside Hospital.  He'd _thought_ she'd take up a graduate degree at Emory in something like finance or business and help him develop the small time computer company he'd been tinkering with on and off since he'd started up at MIT two years ago.  He'd _thought_ Georgia would get over herself and this selfish desire she had that tended to make everyone's lives infinitely more difficult as she seemed to genuinely believe the whole world revolved around her.   

It didn't.   

…but Salem thought that some days it might as well.   

Like with this Rio trip.  Her idea.  Salem's appreciation for sports was limited to…basketball?  Maybe?  Trampoline on special occasion.  Horseback riding alternatively because the fuck watching thousand pound animals jump over poles as tall as him.  But Max who was a photography major at Westminster University had taken a summer internship with a sports magazine doing photojournalism that had dragged him all the way to Rio where Georgia had followed out of pure curiosity, dragging Salem along like a lapdog and siting his on again off again boyfriend, Jesse, as a reason to drag his sorry ass from Boston to Brazil.  Charlie had just come to escape the glitterati and save Salem from himself.  _That_ was friendship.   

Also her idea?  His upcoming year long sort of sabbatical in the UK, taking class towards his computer engineering degree and abruptly ending his internship with Apple.   

 _Also_ her idea?  Adopting a Siberian Husky puppy only to hand it off to Charlie and his live-in bff, Patrick, when she realized she couldn't afford one.   

 _Also_ her idea?  The four bedroom penthouse in Westminster she couldn't afford, which had forced both Maximilian and his boyfriend, and soon Salem to live there too in order to afford rent.   

Selfish.   

Cocking his head and leveling Salem with a warning look, Charlie effectively shut Salem up without a word, and Salem kept his opinion on Georgia's decision making to a minimum.  Rolling his eyes and raising his hands, Salem chose instead to reply, "Whatever.  I still don't understand why it's so imperative I watch Great Britain possibly to bronze, silver, gold, or nada.  I mean, they win, they lose, it has no bearing on my life or yours unless you unwisely bet money you don't have on this game."   

Georgia glared at Salem who blinked up at her innocently, "I don't appreciate you subtext."  Salem shrugged, and Charlie snickered but answered with, "Arthur Bailey."   

Salem nodded, still woefully confused, "Sounds like a pretentious British name.  Kind of 'Charles Beck.'"  He teased Charlie, his voice warping into a clipped faux British accent.  Charlie stuck his tongue out at Salem but smiled in genuine amusement, completely unconcerned with his friend's commentary.  Charlie tended to be easygoing like that, almost as much as Max but Max tended to lean more marijuana-induced mellow than the straight up kind of chill that Charlie exhibited.  Georgia, on the other hand, just seemed put out and exasperated with the whole thing.   

Charlie patted her hand, "Relax, G."   

Salem pursed his lips and nodded with feigned seriousness.  Georgia pointed a candy cane, red and white striped figure at him, "Willfully ignorant."   

"Yes.  That's it."  Salem rolled his eyes but sighed in acquiescence, "Fine.  I'll bite.  We're all into this crap because of Arthur Bailey.  And Arthur Bailey is?"   

"The new Cristiano Rinaldo," Georgia sighed.   

"Who?"   

Now even Charlie shot him a sideways look.  Georgia blinked stupidly at him, "David Beckham?"   

He paused, thinking that one over, "The dude who married Posh Spice?"   

"Oh my God," Georgia threw up her hands.   

"Yeah?  And what do you know about soccer, Georgia?"   

"More than you."   

Okay, so she might have a point about that.   

Charlie tried a different approach, "He's like the Sidney Crosby of football."  Yeah, thay didn't help.  Charlie noticed.  Georgia groaned.  Salem shot Georgia a dirty look, and Charlie tried again, "Babe Ruth?"  _That's definitely baseball, right?_   Quirking an eyebrow, Charlie took a moment to puzzle it out before snapping his fingers and declaring, "LeBron."   

"Oh."  Georgia threw up her hands in the air like she'd given up on him, and Salem nodded thoughtfully, "Okay.  Like child sports star prodigy.  A little clearer."   

"Georgia," Charlie brandished a hand in her direction, "and a great deal of the females in the crowd are here to watch because of Arthur Bailey.  Eighteen.  Half Sioux, half Brit.  Plays for Arsenal, a London based football team in the English Premier League and has since he was sixteen."   

Salem raised his eyebrows, " _Sixteen_?  Is that legal?"   

"Not anymore.  Sixth form college is mandatory now, but Bailey just missed the cut off," Charlie airly waved a hand.  "The point is he's—"   

"Gorgeous," Georgia gushed, slumping in her chair and high fiving a woman grinning wolfishly beside her.   

Looking at the two of them oddly, Salem nodded, "Right."   

Charlie sighed, "That too, but I was aiming for 'talented.'  Unbelievably so.  Number 21.  The forward running there."   

He pointed, and Salem caught sight of the deeply, naturally tanned soccer player a moment before the ball ended up in his feet, which was where Salem raised his eyebrows as the crowd rose in excitement, cheers growing deafening as he faked out the defender, moving smoothly around them.  He passed to a teammate, thick mop of dark hair streaming behind him as he flew towards the goal, maneuvering around the defense and midfielders to reach exactly where he wanted to be.   

No one even saw it coming.   

A quick pass back up the center, then a kick up ahead towards Bailey that took on air, and without even turning to look, Bailey jumped and used his head to propel the ball just passed the reach of the goalkeepers fingers and into the back of the net.   

In a second Bailey's teammate where on him.  The crowd went wild.  And even Charlie was on his feet clapping and cheering.  Georgia happy danced.  And Salem sat between them, utterly confused.  Looking back at him, Georgia waggled her eyebrows while Salem raised his own in response.   

"See?"  Charlie nodded sagely, "Talented."   

Um...okay, Salem would admit to sexy because even from distance Salem could tell the soccer player's body was some kind of glorious Roman statue, all toned muscle, a mix of aristocratic and Native American bone structure, and that shaggy mop of inky sex hair that just begged to have fingers run through it.  But Salem was definitely holding out on talented.  After all, if Charlie had seriously compared him and LeBron, then Salem was underwhelmed since LeBron was the size of Sasquatch and therefore was no more impressive than a fish breathing underwater.   

Salem pursed his lips and nodded, "He gets _paid_ to play like that."   

Georgia gaped, "Arthur Bailey is a national fucking treasure.  Shut your mouth."   

"I thought that was Penelope Dearly," Salem whisper-yelled to Charlie.   

Charlie smirked, "Her too."   

Sighing and face-palming, Salem rolled his eyes, "Fine.  Arthur Bailey is a sex god."  Charlie and Georgia raised their respective bottled beverages in wordless agreement.  "We won?"   

"We won."  Charlie nodded.   

Salem rolled his eyes, "All is right with the world."   

"It would be without the sarcasm," Georgia glowered.   

He shrugged, "I'm not a miracle worker.  Correct me if I'm wrong, though.  They—these sports clubs management teams—spend _millions_ upon _millions_ to make sure their players can well _play_ at elite levels and maintain basic vigilance during these games, right?  He's special _how_?  Aside from his supposedly stunning good looks?"   

"Some people just have natural talent," Georgia remarked cheekily.   "Like you and your smartness."   

"Me and my _smartness_?"  Salem repeated, appalled.   

"She means you and your genius level IQ, how you're the next Steve Jobs, Tony Stark, Bill Gates hybrid."   

"Sounds good, but can I do it without the terrorists kidnapping me and holding me hostage with my own weapons.  Or a depressing movie about how my only accomplishment was my technological advances that my company then totally fucked up upon my deathbed by simply tinkering and reissuing preexisting hardware with little to no software improvement or advances?  Please?"   

"What are you whining about?"  A thick Cajun drawl interrupted him, and Salem turned, grinning.   

"Maxi!  Get any good shots?"   

Max beamed at Salem, allowing the change of subject, "A few."   

Maximilian Priest was a cool as a cucumber mix of contradictions.  A Haitian-American, New Orleans born Cajun with dreadlocks and chocolate skin who'd left the roost for photography school in Paris before transferring to London for his postgraduate degree.  A dedicates Southern Baptist who was also openly gay and frequently reminded Salem of the rather less flamboyant version of _True Blood_ 's Lafayette (the still-breathing tv show Lafayette not the ten feet under one from the books).  And a Republican pothead who supported the war on drugs, votes against pot legalization, and thought Obama was the antichrist.   

They'd met in New Orleans during Marti Gras during one of his visits home and spent a week drinking, dancing, and sleeping (in the most platonic sense).  It had, apparently, bonded them for life, a lot deeper than a whole four years with his high school buddies who'd flipped when he'd confirmed he occasionally dated guys—okay, maybe more than occasionally.  Still, Max and Salem had gotten along famously from the start and had only grown stronger with time and distance.   

"We won," Max grinned.  Charlie high-fived him, and Salem groaned, rolling his eyes.  "I gotta go take a couple shots during post-game interviews for Veronica, one of the sports journos.  I'll meet ya'll at hotel bar, _oui_?"   

"Of course," Charlie beamed, throwing his arm around Salem's shoulders.  "We'll be the ones watching the game highlights and talking about the UK's chance of taking gold."  Georgia laughed delightedly, and Max tried to hide his smile contrary to the impish one Charlie blatantly shot him.   

Salem grimaced, "I hate you."   

With a touch too much delight, Charlie replied cheerfully, "Oh, I know."  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just a quick bit about this upcoming story: it's going to be about Bailey who, if you read the first book, is a football player who hooked up with Cris Emerson from Some Kind of Serendipity once upon a time. I haven't finished it yet. Admittedly, I hadn't finished Some Kind of Serendipity when I started posting it either but I was a lot further through it than I am with this one so we'll see how that goes. I'm trying to write a chapter a day and plan on posting three times a week on Mon, Wed, and Fri and the only time I won't is if I'm sick or don't have a chapter to post. I'm ahead right now but have to apply for my student Visa and finish up my student loan documents soon so I'm going to try. Also if you like action/adventure gay romance read In Company of Shadows. It's amazing. But anyway here's the first chapter. I'll see you on Friday with chapter two (which will be about Bailey and Salem's first meeting).


	2. "Ain't Nothing Wrong With That" by Robert Randolph and the Family Band

**Carey Ahearn (@carey_me_home)**  
@Rafa86 what was that about a Brazilian butt whooping? #TeamGB #Domination  
  
 **Rafael Correa (@Rafa86)**  
@carey_me_home watch yourself Leprechaun ;)  
  
 **Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**  
2days until Argentina #GoldMedalGame #RiOlympics  
  
To: theghostsofsalem@gmail.com  
From: jtmacnamara@gmail.com.ca  
Subject: Avoidance  
Salem, baby, I know you're avoiding me.  If this is about what happened between me and Vic, it was a fluke.  An anomaly.  It was nothing.  You know I love you baby.  Please just talk to me.  I think I deserve that much.  
Yours,  
Jesse  
  
 **Georgia Hanson (@ChangedGeorgia)**  
Holy crap @CharlieBeck @FatherMax @Salem_Daiki 1 more day till #GoldMedalGame  
  
 **Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**  
@ChangedGeorgia I can hardly contain myself.  
  
 **Charles Beck (@CharlieBeck)**  
@Salem_Daiki @ChangedGeorgia @FatherMax I got us #TeamGB shirts :D #IKnowYoureExcited  
  
To: jtmacnamara@gmail.com.ca  
From: theghostsofsalem@gmail.com  
Subject: RE: Avoidance  
Yes, Jesse, I am avoiding you, ignoring you, choosing to disassociate myself from your want to be Bryan Stars, disloyal, poly amorous person.  First of all, you deserve nothing from me, because, secondly, you cheated on me with your cameraman and roommate.  I may be willfully oblivious, borderline chronically naïve, but I am not an imbecile.  It was not a fluke or an anomaly.  You slept around while we were supposed to be exclusive.  Monogamous.  So, thirdly, no, you don't love me—you don't even respect me so how could you possible believe you love me?  Besides, we've been dating for three months with me in Boston and you in Montreal, you barely even know me.  I have said my piece and have finished our dialogue.  
Best,  
Salem  
  
 **Irial Dorian (@DorianII)**  
It's time for #GoldMedalGame #ICantEvenBreath #ImFreakingOut #TeamGB #DroolingOverBailey #justsaying

* * *

 

Bailey didn't do smashed.  Wasted.  Blitzed.  Inebriated.  Impaired.  Pickled.  Cock-eyed.  Sloshed.  _Drunk_ or any of its many, many synonyms.  Kind of like how he didn't do his pretentious, Brit-extraordinaire first name or watch reality television because it was _so, so_ fake and if he wanted to see fake people act fake, he could just spend time with his friends' girlfriends not that they were _all_ gold-diggers, just _a lot_ of them.   

Still, if there was ever a time to let down his Great Wall defenses and let himself loose if even for a moment, it would be now after a hundred minute football game that turned his legs to jelly, his insides to paste, and his skin into living statue of stale sweat but had resulted in two beautiful goals that had won him and his team the Olympic gold medal for the first time in 104 _years_.   

_That_ , of course, being what the very inebriated Carey Ahearn tried to enumerate to Bailey somewhat rationally through his vodka induced haze and the two girls hanging off of him while he beamed stupidly.  "Try to live a little, _Bay-Lee_ we won gold!"   

A cheer went up through the bar, and Bailey shook his head and rolled his eyes at Carey's behavior, "You realize you're going to regret this tomorrow when you have a wicked hangover, yes?"   

Carey waved him away with an air of unconcern, but Bailey knew better.  As a stereotypical Irishman, Carey Ahearn could hold his liquor.  After all, his love for Guinness was unparalleled and his history of losing control made Patrick Kane look like a Boy Scout.  The problem really lied in his inability to accept the consequences of his alcohol induced psychosis, like how he basically became comatose during his hangover, moaning and groaning and treating whatever unfortunate victim chose to remain with him…usually Bailey as he was the only person whose sobriety was always guaranteed.   

"You, mate," Carey began, pitching himself forward into Bailey's awkward hold, "need to get _laid_."   

"He can't.  His girlfriend's in LA," a new voice added, and Bailey tilted his head back to smile in greeting at Rafael Correa, their Arsenal teammate turned Olympic enemy.  The brown-skinned, dark-haired slip of Brazil was both a Rio native and a hometown favorite with amber eyes and quite the lothario.  A lothario who'd seemingly forgotten all about his blonde-haired waif of a live-in girlfriend back in London judging by the slip of Brazilian cuteness hanging off his arm and drinking Rosé.   

Bailey raised his eyebrows on the bronze medal sporting Brazilian, "Hasn't stopped you," he said by way of answer, eyes raking judgmentally over the girl who bristled, sniffed, and raised her chin defiantly.   

_Here we go._   

Carey giggled, "Who is this?"   

"Who is _that_?"  Rafa shot back challengingly, "Not your baby mama."   

"Me and Molly," Carey slurred, pointing a finger at Rafa while the rest of his hand loosely held onto the neck of a beer, the amber liquid sloshing around the inside of the glass bottle, and his terracotta hair falling into his moss green eyes, "are not together.  Unlike you and…you and…" Carey tipped his head back towards Bailey and looked up at him through narrowed eyes, "What's Blondie's name?"   

"Chloe," Bailey offered.   

Carey looked back at Rafa, "Chloe."   

"This is why people honestly believe athletes are asshole who can't keep their dicks in their pants," Bailey sighed, sipping on his Gin and Tonic delicately.   

Rafa frowned, "Because we _are_?"   

Bailey glared while Carey frowned in confusion, "I thought that was celebrities."   

"Them too," Bailey acquiesced, somewhat surprised by Carey's astute observation being the drunken mess he currently was.  Although, Bailey didn't feel completely confident in that assessment as his ex-hook up turned friend, Cris Emerson, might have been one of the most ridiculously faithful men he knew despite all the bullshit he had to put up with both at home in England and during touring on the road.  His bandmates had less issues but were also no exception.  Catching a glimpse of the white blond hair weaving through the crowd and coming up behind Rafa, Bailey nodded in greeting, "Hey, Ben."   

Benedikt Roland, the Germany expatriate footie player, was lanky, white-blond, and ice blue eyed…and married to an Israeli Jew, which had always gotten him a good bout of good-natured ribbing when he'd played for Arsenal.  He'd been traded to Chelsea a year ago, and Bailey had missed his calm, generally relaxed and mature presence during team outings but saw him outside of work just about as often, his kickass wife, Tal, even more so since she taught Krav Maga at the gym he frequented.   

Ben smiled warmly at him, "Congratulations, Bailey."  

"Thanks," Bailey returned awkwardly.   

"Bailey's so _modest_ ," Carey groaned.   

"I think the word you're looking for is _humble_ , Carey."   

Ben chuckled and shook his head, "He's too smashed to know the difference."   

The girl tugged on Carey's arm with a seductive smile, and Carey grinned, sliding his arm back around her and pulling her in for a hard kiss on the mouth before smirking over at his friends, "I'm going!"   

Bailey grimaced, "Use protection.  One baby is enough."   

Rafa laughed, "Hold on.  Mari and I'll walk up with you."  Carey nodded, looping his arm around the second girl, both of them pressing close to the Irishman's side and giggling coyly.  Rafa smirked at Bailey who shook his head in disgust while Rafa pulled him into a quick one-armed hug, kissing his temple, "You did good, Bay.  It's okay to let your hair down for five minutes, yeah?"  Bailey bit back a sigh and nodded while Rafa pulled back and smiled at him, "Try to have fun."  Rolling his eyes, Bailey sidled closer to Ben while Rafa fist-bumped him like the total tool he was, "I'll see you back in London, traitor."   

Ben laughed, yelling at his retreated backside, "I was _traded_ you ass!"  Rafa's laugh drifted back to them, and Ben shook his head, leaning back against the bar and eying Bailey, "Get a message from your girl?"   

He shrugged.  He hadn't heard anything from Kanani, rarely did when she was out on a job, but the boys didn't need to know that.  They would have thought it was weird.  Even monogamy incapable Rafa called his girlfriend once a day and texted her frequently, or, at least, she did him not that it ever stopped him from sleeping around.  All he knew was that Kanani was shooting a spread for _Glamour_ in Betsey Johnson in Los Angeles, and her estimated return date was sometime just before he went back to London.  She'd congratulate him whenever she caught sight of the game replays, but otherwise they held their radio silence during the duration, neither of them having the energy to put in regular cross-world communications.   

"Where's your wife?"   

"Schmoozing," Ben replied with a wry grin, nodding to where the olive-skinned, dyed blonde former IDF special forces soldier turned Krav Maga and elite personal trainer chatted amicably at the bar, holding court with an assortment of Brazilian, English, Irish, German, and Argentinian football players with ease.  Tal tended to be one of the guys without conscious effort and wearing a dress didn't change that.  Ben smiled affectionately at her before looking over at an awkward Bailey, "Don't listen to Rafa.  He's gonna end up with a diseased pinprick if he keeps sticking his dick in every hole he comes across, either from an STI or a girlfriend who doesn't take to kindly to being cheated on.  It's okay to stay faithful to the one you're with."   

Sighing and running a hand through his hair, Bailey nodded, lips pressed together in a tight line.  _I would if I could_.  But he couldn't so he wouldn't so staying faithful was an absolute moot point.   

"I'm gonna grab some air," Bailey responded a bit to harshly, and Ben blinked in surprise, not having a chance to recover before Bailey was retreating out of the bar's private room, through the main room, and out to the patio.  Luckily for him, they'd chosen a local bar as their place to party, close to Athlete's Village but offsite, which meant most of the people there were Rio locals both celebrating their bronze win and sympathizing over their loss of gold to the Brits.  No one stopped him as he sat down on the patio steps, frowning down at his lukewarm tequila before dumping it out in the flowerless flower bed beside the steps.   

_God, you're being maudlin._  

Maybe he was past due for his annual visit to his mother's family's ranch on Sioux Reservation land in Rosebud, South Dakota— _well, I suppose after two years it's definitely past due_ —where he usually came up for air.  Away from cameras.  Away from management.  Away from the expectations of his family and agent and Arsenal's fans.   

Like he said: maudlin.  Too maudlin for someone who just won Olympic gold for his country.   

_And alcohol is a depressant so it's only going to get worse._

The door to the patio burst open behind him, and Bailey flinched but didn't move, ducking his head further into his chest.  With a groan, someone sat down heavily beside him, close enough for him to feel the warmth radiating off their body body not close enough that they were actually touching.  It was oddly comforting.   

Bailey glanced over as the guy shifting, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing…yeah, that was a joint.   

Wordlessly and completely unconcerned about the maybe marijuana free person sitting beside him, the guy lit up.  He glanced sideways at Bailey who looked away quickly but not quickly enough to miss the slightest quirk of his pierced lips.  "Want to bum a smoke?"  He asked.   

American.   

A pierced, tattooed American who smoked marijuana.  _Now there's a surprise._  

"Um," he started awkwardly, "no."   

Peeking over at him, he saw the American's lips quirk up in slight smirk, "Didn't think so."   

_The fuck is that supposed to mean?_ He didn't respond, didn't react beyond wrinkling his nose at the sickly sweet stench of marijuana.  Feeling eyes on him, Bailey glanced over to find the guy looking at him, utterly amused.   

"If you don't want me to smoke just say so.  No need to be so passive-aggressive.  You were here first," he pointed out with a wry quirk to his lips.   

Bailey blinked at him in shock, "That's––" the guy's grin widened, light glinting off the pair of silver rings on either side of his bottom lip.  Bailey cleared his throat uncomfortably and nodded, "That's very reasonable."   

"I try," he looked over at Bailey, smiling a full, wide, genuine grin that took Bailey's breath away entirely unexpectedly.   

He didn't really have a type per say besides anonymous and discreet and, admittedly, preferably, at least a little bit gay.  This guy seemed to be none of the above and far from the straight-laced, blue-collar, hush-hush people that he usually had one night stands with and were attracted to.   

Everything about the man in front of him screamed wild, spontaneous, completely out of control; unearthly beautiful and damn near androgynous, the guy stood 5'9", maybe 5'10", only an inch or so shorter than Bailey himself and looked like a Japanese doll all slender, reedy, and delicate with thick side bangs and long hair that fell passed his shoulder blades, at least four inches of it dyed blood red.  A bar through his eyebrow, a stud in his nose, snakebites in his lips, and at least three up his ears, he had an ageless look to him like a China doll and screamed old school rock n' roll in a Doors t-shirt, ripped stars and stripes denim vest, and knee-length jean shorts, a wallet chain knocking against his thigh.  Tattoos curled up his arm, and Bailey's eyes traced up and over the full sleeve of assorted cartoon characters and Japanese art work.  Eyes pausing on the pair of blue and black haired men embracing in a way that could be read as both platonic and romantic on his bicep, Bailey startled when his eyes met the jade green pair already on him with amusement clear in the back of them.   

"Hi," he said brightly, smiling impishly.  "I'm––"   

"Konstantin Petrov!" Someone yelled, slamming into the door a moment before struggling to yank it open.   

Bailey gaped, looking between the door and the Asian-American dude, who grinned acidly before shrugging and correcting, "Salem.  I go by Salem."   

The door surged open to reveal a cinnamon-haired, heavily intoxicated man who stumbled in their direction as Salem rose to his feet, watching the guy warily through narrowed eyes, taking a drag off his joint.  _Yeah, if I knew this guy I might be a pothead too._   The guy pointed a finger at Salem, "Konstantin."   

Salem sighed, "Jesse.  You found me."   

"You're ignoring me."   

"I _broke up_ with you," Salem corrected, seemingly unconcerned by how heavily intoxicated the man was.   

"You…you––!" Jesse swayed, and Bailey moved quickly to catch him.  The man tipped his head back, glaring up at Bailey who blinked owlishly, understanding the malevolence only a moment later when Jesse floundered in his hold, yelling at Salem, "You're such a fucking hypocrite!  This your new fuck toy?  Already?  Or were you fucking him when we were together?!"   

Bailey's eyebrows drew together as he looked at Salem, mouthing, 'Fuck toy?'   

Salem fought a smile and glanced back at Jesse, mouth twisted in a grimace of distaste, "I think you're confusing the two of us, Jesse.  _You're_ the one incapable of monogamy not _me_."   

Jesse broke free of Bailey's hold with an irate fury that rose from Salem's dispassionate pronouncement.  Immediately, he lost his footing and started to fall back when someone appeared in the doorway behind him, catching him in his arms.  Jesse curled into him instinctively, and Salem sighed, looking up at the starry sky like it could save him from this situation.  Bailey bit his bottom lip, fighting a smile.  Nothing could save him from this humiliation.   

Shifting his weight uncomfortably, Salem's eyes shot to Bailey, watching him intensely for a moment before darting to Jesse and the embarrassed guy holding him.  Grimacing, Salem sighed in greeting, "Hello Vic."   

"Salem.  I'm so sor––"   

"Save it," Salem held up a hand, shaking his head and pursing his lips as his eyes looked over Jesse.  "Just take Snooki here home for the night, okay?"   

Vic colored but nodded, "I––"  Salem shot him a poisonous look, cutting Vic off, "Right.  Yeah, of course."  And just like that, Vic was hauling Jesse back over the threshold and into the bar's interior.   

Bailey raised his eyebrows, and Salem sighed but inclined his head, allowing the question that sat on the tip of Bailey's tongue, "So…that was the ex-boyfriend and the guy he cheated with?"   

Laughing bitterly, Salem nodded, "Unfortunately.  He won't leave me alone."   

"I think I've met them," Bailey said with a frown.   

Pausing, Salem looked him over before admitting, "Might have.  They've been around.  Jesse's a self-employed reporter.  Gets paid by YouTube for his videos.  He usually interviews singers and actresses and crap like that but he's down here for the Olympics because it's such a big thing."   

"And his…?"  Bailey hesitated uncertainly, blushing.   

Salem didn't let it bother him, smiling and laughing while offering, "Lover?"   

"Right," Bailey stuttered uncomfortably, "is?"   

"His cameraman," Salem nodded, finishing his joint with one last hit because dropping it and crushing it under his foot.  He peered up at Bailey from under his ridiculously long, thick eyelashes, a smile spreading across his face; Bailey swallowed, heat rising under his skin as he shifted uncomfortably and tried to avoid the intense, amused gaze of the delicate yet pure embodiment of sex standing in front of him.  "So, which part makes you uncomfortable: the awkward lovers quarrel or the fact that we're all men."   

"Um…" Bailey cleared his throat, not at all amused by the blush he could feet heating his face in a completely different way than the heat rising in the rest of his body as Salem climbed the stairs and started slowly towards him.  He shook his head and tried to clear it.  _Honestly, you'd think I'd never picked up before._   "It's not––"   

Salem raised his eyebrows as he stepped into Bailey's personal space, "It's not what?"   

He stepped back.  Salem followed.  "It's not that."   

"That what?"  The American continued until Bailey's back hit the wall of the bar, and Salem pressed forward into his personal space, bodies pressed flesh against each other, the position providing delicious friction and revealing Bailey's obvious erection.  His breath caught, and Salem leaned forward, ghosting his lips over the skin of Bailey's throat.  He swallowed, digging his fingers nails into his palms as he clenched his fists, head tipping to the side automatically.  Salem nipped his earlobe and whispered, "Oh, _that_.  It's okay, you know, to be attracted to me."   

"Um…" Bailey started.  _Don't grind on him like you're a horny teenager outside of a bar.  Just don't._   One of Salem's hands skimmed up over Bailey's side, the other knotting in his hair as he pressed a kiss to the underside of Bailey's jaw, following it up with a nip and a lick.  Bailey groaned and dropped his head forward onto the juncture between Salem's neck and shoulder, breathing in the scent of his natural musk, remnants of weed, and his aftershave, chest heaving like he'd run a marathon just trying to control himself.   

Salem's hands slid over the thin fabric of his t-shirt to rest on his chest, pulling back to meet Bailey's eyes with a half-smile, "Do you want to––?"   

Bailey closed the distance between them, slamming their lips together and burying his fingers in the silky strands of hair.  Salem grinned against his lips, wrapping his arms around Bailey's neck and eliminating any meager pockets of air between their bodies.  Their tongues met, and Bailey groaned, hand trailing down Salem's spine lightly and sending him arching against Bailey's body.  His hand dipped under Salem's shirt and grabbed his hips, pulling him in tighter to his body, tongues warring, and hands roving over each other, heat building between them as they kissed and touched, not stopping until they had to come up for air.  Their foreheads pressed against each other, Bailey's chocolate eyes met Salem's jade ones, mutual lust darkening both their gazes, hands lightly trailing over bodies, heaving breaths mixing.   

Shifting to press an open-mouth kiss right underneath Salem's ear, Bailey whispered, "Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, chapter two, and can I just say that I'm actually really happy about the way this is going. This is, truthfully, a rewrite. I'd actually written like ninety pages of this a few weeks ago and scratched it because I totally hated it. Yes, Salem is half Asian/half Russian (because I'm currently obsessed with both those places...okay I've always been in love with Russia for whatever reason) and has a crazy name that does not include the name 'Salem' which we'll get to. And I'm starting to realize that there's so many characters from so many countries, this story is starting to look like an advertisement for a UN summit. Oh and disclaimer: I'm not about to bash emos the whole story (my friend is emo actually...) but I do try for accuracy when it comes to people's first impressions and Salem occasionally smokes pot, which does not make him a pothead (we're not going to get into a debate about legality though). Anyway, your Friday update. And I get to go finish my student loan application now. See you Monday.


	3. "Surfboard" by Cody Simpson

**Kanani Kapuana (@Kanani_Pahala)**  
Congrats on 2 goals and gold from England :)  
  
 **Golden boy wins big for Great Britain**  
For the first time in 100 years, Great Britain brings home Olympic gold in football thanks in large part to Arsenal forward, Arthur Bailey.  The eighteen year old footie star gave his team the early lead in the gold medal game against, Argentina, scoring on veteran goalkeeper, Miguel Montalvo, at the fifteen minute mark during the first half.  Just before half time, Argentina's own powerhouse forward, Anthony Rodriguez, tied the game, but it was with three minutes of regulation time to spare that Bailey scored the game winning goal to bring gold back to Britain for the first time since 1912.  
  
 **Charles Beck (@CharlieBeck)**  
I lost @Salem_Daiki #NotGood #WheresWaldo #RiOlympics  
  
 **Patrick Gallagher (@StPatty_)**  
@CharlieBeck you're a terrible friend :P  
  
To: theghostsofsalem@gmail.com  
Cc: prayersforpriest@gmail.com  
From: thatgeorgiapeach@gmail.com  
Subject: Where are you  
Can you please just let your worried friends know that you're not dead in a ditch somewhere?  It's been 36 hours.  
Send the text. Let us know,  
Georgia  
  
 **Text message from Rafa to Bailey**  
Rafa: Its been like 2dys. U alive?  
  
 **Text message from Carey to Bailey**  
Carey: Bay hope ur marathoning sex not dead  
  
 **Carey Ahearn (@carey_me_home)**  
Omg closing ceremony in like 8hrs!!! #ClosingCeremony #RiOlympics  
  
To: kingarthurb@gmail.com.uk  
From: kier.peter@londonsportsmgmt.org.uk  
Subject: URGENT: climb out your hole  
Arthur,  
No one's heard from you since post game interview and the medal ceremony three days ago.  The Olympic closing ceremony is in five hours. Get you butt up for your 13:00 interview with Sky Sports and the closing ceremony.  
Peter Kier  
Senior Sports Agent  
London Sports Management

* * *

 

Salem woke up in sheets that smelled like fresh grass, sex, and Axe completely nude and with a heavy weight wrapped around his waist and a living furnace sprawled half over his body.  The biggest surprise was that Salem was both unsurprised by this turn of event and completely adjusted to the sensation of…well…Bailey.  
  
He turned over, his face inches from Bailey who had shed his rigid, robotic exterior in sleep to be relaxed, content, looking _years_ younger without the tension and control he usually exhibited.  Of course, he shed those barriers during sex but uninhibited passion and lust was surely not the same as relaxation and serenity that came from peace.  Keeping his breathing shallow to try not to wake the sleeping soccer player whose hair spread wildly across his face and the pillow, Salem reached out to gently push the hair off of Bailey face and back behind his ear.  Bailey hummed in his sleep and pressed closer to Salem, nuzzling his face into Salem's neck and inhaling deeply before relaxing into slumber again.  
      
Pursing his lips, Salem looked down at the English soccer player, his lips curling up automatically as he ran his fingers through his thick locks.  
      
Bailey had been an accident, a delicious whoopsie that never should have happened and had utterly consumed Salem's attention for the past approximately seventy two hours.  Salem didn't do one night stands, he was a serial monogamist like that.  He didn't do closeted people in general, especially not gold medaling pro-athletes who got more media coverage than the Kardashians for better reasons.  Bailey was Britain's footie golden boy and a saint who'd reinvigorated Arsenal and brought triumph back to Great Britain's football on a national level.  
      
And then there was Arthur "yeah, like the aardvark don't call me that" Bailey who proved every rule had an exception.  
      
That was how mere hours after breaking up with the boyfriend he'd designated the last three months of his life to, Salem ended up in an Olympian's hotel room with a dick in his mouth and a mouth on his dick, coming like fucking Vesuvius and swallowing down cum like he was a pornstar.  And how twelve hours later, he was woken up with a tongue lapping at his hole, pushing through the outer ring of muscle and fucking him mercilessly while Salem pushed back into the touch and moaned.  And forty-eight hours, he was _still_ there sitting nude on Bailey's lap with his head leaning back on the man's shoulder, both of them sharing a massive banana split and watching _The Last Airbender_ while Bailey commented on their poor dialogue and Salem yelled at every inaccuracy to the manga and the television show that he possibly could…up until Bailey's cock hardening in the cleft of his ass became too distracting and Salem had to grind into him, which had resulted in an enthusiastic bout of sex on the couch with Bailey simply impaling Salem on his cock right them and there.  
      
Yeah.  That had been the past three days: sex, sex, food, sex, Salem's brief group text to Charlie, Max, and Georgia ensuring his continued existence, and more sex.  
      
Great sex.  
      
Fantastic, heart pounding, earth shattering sex.  The kind of sex that made his muscles deliciously sore and his whole face break into a glowing smile just _thinking_ about it.  
      
Just thinking about _Bailey_.  
      
Yeah, he'd been an accident.  
      
Salem had never intended to sleep with a professional athlete, hell, he'd never even attended to meet one.  But then he'd trailed out of the bar that had become Charlie, Georgia, and Max's typical post-game Rio hangout for a breath of fresh air (or a break from his increasingly drunk, increasingly agitated ex-boyfriend) and a quick smoke (that Salem hadn't had in _days_ because Bailey couldn't stand the smell) to find a very curious and silently judgmental Bailey sitting on the steps like some kind of modern day, maudlin _Thinker_ statue.  Bailey who'd gone from good guy to wordlessly sarcastic to sex god in a matter of minutes, bringing Salem along with him for the ride and pushing him out of his comfort zone and into dangerously sleazy waters with next to no hesitation.  
      
After seventy two hours, Salem still didn't understand how he'd gotten into this situation in the first place.  
      
Yes, Charlie and Georgia hadn't been exaggerating about Bailey's attractiveness.  From a distance, Bailey had been drool-worthy with a perfect, firm ass, evidently toned muscles, and caramel skin.  Up close, Bailey had been downright beautiful with his combination of aristocratic bone structure and his Native American high cheekbones and coloring, and deep, soulful liquid chocolate eyes.  His silky raven black hair just barely brushed his shoulders and was almost always out of control.  Despite his stony facade, Bailey's eyes told everything, revealed everything, held a warmth that seemed at odds with what seemed to be his usual fallback, ice queen demeanor.  
      
The whole thing was crazy and totally outside of Salem's usual MO, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to regret it.  And after three days of wondering how the hell he'd gotten here, he still couldn't regret it.  
      
Deciding to shake himself out of his overthinking, Salem carefully detached Bailey's body from where he was wrapped around Salem's like an octopus, slipping out of the bed and padding across the plush carpet to the bathroom.  Somewhere between Bailey basically ordering Salem to stay and their breakfast fruit salad that had turned into a round of messy, enthusiastic sex in the tiny kitchen, he'd acquired a toothbrush from the front desk.  He brushed his teeth quickly (because morning breath is a no-no despite how many basic hygiene boundaries they'd crossed in the last seventy two hours barring their lewd sex and general sodomy) and ran Aubrey's hairbrush through his wild nest of hair until it fell back into its usual stick, straight cascade.  
      
He twisted his hair up into a loose knot as he stepped back into Bailey's suite, lips quirking up as his eyes fell on Bailey still sprawled across the bed.  Reaching down, he scooped up a pair of Bailey's Arsenal sweatpants and pulled them on, snagging his laptop off the desk top as he passed by and dropping to sit cross-legged beside Bailey's prone form.  He flipped on the television and turned on the computer, content to tinker aimlessly until Bailey woke up, and switched channels at a breakneck pace before settling on _Stick It_ as the computer booted up.  
      
Salem decided quickly that it was sad and fairly dangerous how easy Bailey's computer was to break into.  
      
It took him even less time to realize that if he'd been a thief, it would be altogether too easily to just steal the soccer player's full identity.  
      
And by the time Bailey came awake with a yawn, blinking up at Salem before curling himself closer, pressing his face against Salem's hips and pressing his body as close to Salem's as possible, Salem realized that Bailey simply had no sense of cyber self-preservation and, if he believed in fate, God had influenced Salem to break his no one night stand and the consequent and hereby unspoken golden rule to leave before morning to keep Bailey from having his whole life turn into the much more highly publicized version of _Sex Tape_.  
      
Fact.  
      
Bailey peered up at him with his dark eyes, eyes lids heavy from sleep and his wild mass of hair falling into his face.  Salem flipped his hair from his eyes, not once shifting his gaze from Bailey's laptop screen, using one-hand to brush the soccer player's hair back out of his face.  
      
Without any accusation, Bailey asked, "What are you doing?"  
      
"Keeping you from becoming Justin Bieber," Salem replied tonelessly before pausing and looking up at the television screen before shrugging and turning back to his work, "and watching Missy Peregrym expose how absolutely ridiculous the rules of gymnastics are."  
      
"I thought you said you like gymnastics."  Bailey hoisted his head up onto Salem's leg, and he shifted so that Bailey's head lay more comfortably on his lap without breaking stride in his typing.  
      
"I do."  
      
"How are you on my computer?"  
      
Salem rolled his eyes, "Do you even _know_ what firewalls are?  It's sad, really, how easy it would be to steal your identity.  I mean, you have your credit card information in your notes section labeled 'Credit Card Info.'"  
      
He pouted.  "It's password protected."  
      
"Dude, I'm an excellent hacker, but this wasn't even a fight.  What kind of pro-athlete _labels_ their folders informatively _and_ has the severe lack of foresight to make their password 'password'?  Do you _want_ to get hacked?  And what if you get robbed?  Your whole _life_ is at my fingertips, and it wasn't even _hard_."  
      
Bailey waved him off, first frowning at what was happening on the screen of his laptop before he shifted to watch the screen of the television with narrowed eyes.  "I actually like this movie."  
      
"It's a mindless chick flick.  What's not to like?"  
      
"You get breakfast?"  
      
"It's eleven o'clock."  Bailey grunted, not even shifting as he watched the movie with rapt attention, letting Salem continue to work on his computer without the slightest care.  Honestly, the boy _had_ to be a saint.  Salem didn't exactly have a computer full of dirty pictures and sex tapes (though there were a couple of those floating around his hard drive _somewhere_ ), but the first person who laid a finger on _either_ of his laptops just on principle.  Kind of like his phone.  Or his tablet.  Or his work station.  Or just any electronic device belonging to him.  "Speaking of," Bailey looked up at Salem, "your agent emailed you.  Apparently you have an interview with Sky Sports at one.  Sounds all kinds of serious."  
      
Bailey's face hardened for a minute before he scowled slightly and nodded.  There was a moment of hesitation, and Salem smirked, already seeing where this was headed.  "You hacked my email?"  
      
"I doubt it would have been hard, but no, I didn't."  Bailey shot him a doubtful look, and Salem half-shrugged, "I was trying to check _mine_ , but you're _logged into gmail_.  It came up when I typed in the web address.  I mean," he shot Bailey and exasperated look, " _really_ , Bailey?"  
      
"It's _my_ laptop."  
      
"Yeah, your laptop is less protected than an abandoned warehouse."  Salem scoffed, and Bailey scowled at him but chose not comment.  
      
"What _are_ you _doing_?"  
      
"Aside from combing through your music library with a fine toothed comb and changing your wallpaper from the Arsenal insignia to this great still from the final scene in _Les Miserables_?"  Bailey pinched Salem's leg until he yelped and swatted his hand away.  "Relax, I updated your software, added some firewalls that make NASA's look like an elementary school's, downloaded Google Chrome _and_ Firefox because apparently you missed the memo about Explorer being a no-no, got you Microsoft Office software that isn't from the Stone Age, changed your password, password protected your sensitive information, and Google searched your career."  
      
Bailey snorted, "Nice.  What's my new password?"  
      
"Cocksucker27 for both," Salem replied cheekily.  
      
He pursed his lips for a moment before shaking his head, "Like you'd have the same password for both."  
      
 _That_ stilled Salem.  _The fuck, he's right_.  He let go of the weird feeling welling up in him before it had a chance to take root and shrugged, "Okay.  Point.  Your computer password it Vo1DeM0rt."  He spelled it out for Bailey who raised his eyebrows, the edges of his lips fighting to curve upward.  Salem continued, "And your sensitive information password is your mother's maiden name, your soccer jersey number, and your city of birth, only the city capitalized."  
      
"I'm expected to remember all this?"  
      
"Suffer," Salem responded.  "Think of it as punishment for your poor cyber safety."  
      
Bailey grimaced, and Salem chuckled, finishing his installations with a contented grin and closing the laptop, resting her head back against the wall.  They both remained quiet, Salem combing his fingers through Bailey's hair while the soccer play rested in his lap, the end of the movie playing out in front of them.  They remained that way until the credits began to roll when Bailey sighed and rolled his head to look up at Salem.  
      
"What time is it?"  
      
Salem smiled at Bailey and gently slipped out from under his head, "Time for me to go.  Your interview is in a little over an hour and closing ceremonies and in less than six."  
      
"When do you fly out?"  
      
"Tomorrow morning.  Crack of dawn," Salem answered, feeling Bailey's eyes heatedly trailing over his skin as he slipped out of Bailey's sweatpants and into his own clothes from three _days_ ago.  He tucked his dying cell phone into his back pocket, scribbling Bailey's passwords and his information the hotel stationary, folding it up and handing it to him as he leaned down to give Bailey a long, lingering, heated kiss that rose his body temperature and stirred his cock.  Bailey moaned into it, and Salem pulled back quickly before the soccer player pulled him back into bed and got them both into trouble.  "Call me or don't.  It's not like I didn't know what this was.  I won't be heartbroken."  
      
Watching him heatedly, Bailey nodded, "Thank you."  
      
"Try not to make me feel like a prostitute," Salem said, pausing in the doorway.  
      
Bailey shook his head, "I meant for the computer."  
      
"Why?  I could have just deleted all your personal info, uploaded your photos to TMZ's website, and emptied your bank accounts then posted a dick pic as your background just to go for the jugular."  
      
"Did you?"  
      
"Nah," Salem smirked, "but I did _actually_ use a still from _Brokeback Mountain_ not _Les Miserables_."  
      
Bailey rolled his eyes and reached over to grab a baggie from his drawer, tossing it to Salem who caught it effortlessly, "Don't forget your weed."  
      
Salem smiled softly and walked back over to pull Bailey into one last, long kiss, pretending not to notice the almost desperate way Bailey wrapped his arms around Salem's neck and clung to him, their mouths moving together like…well…like they were never going to see each other again.  Pulling back reluctantly, Salem pecked Bailey's lips one last time, his fingers running down the side of Bailey's face before he shook his head and walked around to the door, forcing himself not to look back.  
      
"Konstantin!"  
      
Salem paused and looked over his shoulder at Bailey softly, "Arthur."  
      
Opening his mouth, Bailey sighed tiredly and ran his hand over his face.  He nodded, and Salem smiled softly at him before exiting the bedroom and then the suite.  And if he looked back, well, no one had to know.  
  
  
"Where the hell have you been stranger?"  Georgia inquired archly when Salem finally made his promised appearance, dropping into his seat at the closing ceremony.  
      
Salem had been lucky enough to come back to an empty hotel room with a text message from Georgia saying that she'd stopped in to watch gymnastics All-Arounds where Max was shooting, and that Charlie had headed out to have drinks with some American figure skater he'd met once upon a time while filming for a movie.  
      
It had been a short-lived reprieve but just enough time for him to shake the unexpected melancholia from leaving Bailey for the first time in three days, take the first shower he'd had alone in days (that ended up being cold when he pictured his last shower in Bailey's hotel room that had involved an excellent blowjob and clumsy sex against the tile), and change from Wednesday's outfit into a fresh pair of camouflage cargo shorts and an American flag tank top, pulling on his favorite pair of Vans and changing out his piercings to hopefully avoid this exact conversation.  
      
Apparently, no matter how much he aimed for 'nothing happened' normalcy, it just wasn't destined to be.  
      
"Around."  
      
"Sleeping around?"  Charlie butted in, appearing almost out of nowhere with a tiny, barely legal chick behind him who looked entirely uncomfortable to be there.  Salem chose not to answer, raising his eyebrows at Charlie who sighed and made brusque introductions, "Selena Graham, future gold medal Olympic figure skater."  
      
"And jailbait," Georgia added while Salem nodded in agreement.  
      
Charlie shrugged, "It's not like we're shagging.  Yes, she's sixteen.  No, we're not sleeping together."  He rolled his eyes and turned to Sidney, "Lena, this is one of my best friends, Salem Petrov, and his…whatever, Georgia."  
      
"Thanks for that introduction, Charlie," Georgia purred, eyes narrowed dangerously.  
      
Charlie shrugged, and Selena giggled.  Georgia sighed and side-eyed Salem who pretended not to notice, sipping his coke with a feigned blasé expression; Charlie rolled his eyes and snorted quietly.  Salem elbowed him but had to fight back a smile.  
      
Georgia cracked first, "Are you ever gonna tell us who your spent the last three days playing house with?"  
      
"I think having a seventy-two hour sex marathon hardly counts as 'playing house.'  Chaz and Patty, they play house.  I had––"  
      
"A three night stand?"  Charlie offered smoothly, his smile almost feral.  
      
 _And there's the dark side of Chaz that I know and pretend to love but am actually scared shitless of._  
      
"Yeah, that."  
      
"Salem––"  
      
He waved off Georgia's prying question and Charlie's curiosity, "It happened.  It's done.  It's never gonna happen again.  The closing ceremony is starting.  Let's forget it."  
      
They dropped the situation for now.  If only Salem could forget it and let the situation drop with the same ease as his friends.  He'd probably be a hell of a lot saner.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's chapter three even though I'd rather be sleeping because of the massive headache that I have. Anyway, the pride I have in myself about how totally ahead of schedule I am with writing this. Thanks for reading this.


	4. "One Night Town" by Ingrid Michaelson

**Arthur Bailey's flying high**  
Arsenal star player, Arthur Bailey (21), seems to be incapable of being stopped since the Olympics where his playmaking prowess and keen on-field awareness helped lead the national team to victory, the 18 year old forward has only improved.  Despite diving straight into league regular season immediately following the Rio Olympic closing ceremony, the young footballer is averaging a point per game on the field and still seems to be balancing his career with rumored girlfriend, model Kanani Kapuana.  
  
 **Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**  
1 week until my yr long English sabbatical :/  
  
 **Georgia Hanson (@ChangedGeorgia)**  
@Salem _Daiki I think its only a sabbatical if ur breaking from skool.  
  
 **Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**  
@ChangedGeorgia when did you start yours then?  
  
 **Text message from Kanani to Bailey**  
 **Kanani:** did u give on of ur road hookers ur #?  
 **Bailey** : not hookers  
 **Bailey:** and nope nvr. y?  
 **Kanani** : Cuz some kid named Aaron just cussed me out. He thinks im ur gf 2  
 **Kanani** : Can we quit this charade?  
 **Bailey** : can u stop using my flat as a crashpad?  
 **Kanani** : -_-  
 **Bailey** : Aaron is the team physician  
 **Kanani** : U skipped ur physical again?  
 **Bailey** : poor timing and suspicious bruising  
  
To: theghostsofsalem@gmail.com  
Cc: prayersforpriest@gmail.com  
From: crabbysebas0922@gmail.com.fr  
Subject: Bonjour Salem  
Bonjour mon ami,  
I'm really excited for you to come live and go to uni with us in London despite adding yet another person to our flat.  I apologize in advance for what a terrible housemate Georgia actually is.  
We'll pick you up from Heathrow, should be right over by the bag carousel unless Max gets us lost.  And Georgia has to work so lucky for you it's just you, me, and Max.  
Sebastian

* * *

 

"I see him!  He's right there!"  
      
"I don't see him, Bas.  You need your eyes checked."  
      
" _Il est lá,crétin_!  Next to that woman in that _terrible_ cheetah print cat suit."  
      
"Sorry, madame."  
      
" _Faites attention_ , Max!  _Mon Dieu_.  Salem!  Salem!  Konstantin Salem Petrov!"  
      
Salem spun around with a smile dancing over his lips, slamming the butt of his duffel bag into the gut of Max's outspoken French boyfriend who coughed, eyes bugging out in surprise.  Max put a hand to his head, sighing in exasperation.  Salem smiled down at Sebastien, "You know, that's not actually my name."  
      
Sebastien huffed and crossed his arms over his chest before shrugging and beaming, " _Kon'nichiwa_ , Sale."  
      
Grimacing, Salem shook his head, "Not with the Japanese.  Where did you even learn that word?"  
      
"I know _bonjour_ in almost every language," Sebastien said with a clear 'duh stupid' tone.  "Besides, you do _parlez japonais, non_?"  
      
Shooting Max a quick look that said just what exactly Salem thought about Max's boyfriend's running commentary, Salem turned back to Bastian with raised eyebrows, "A little," he admitted.  "But if you really want to have a convo with me in another language you'd be better trying Russian.  My mom reverts to it whenever she get worked up.  That and sign language."  
      
"Parent-teacher conferences must have been fun," Max snorted in amusement, taking Salem's duffel bag from him.  
      
Grimacing, Salem shook his head.  The one and only time his dad had deigned to attend when he'd happened to be around on business in town it had been with his least favorite teacher.  Ryu barely spoke a lick of English.  His mom spoke zero Japanese and kept flipping between sign language and Russian, forcing broken English and smiling sharply at Mrs. Seran.  Ryu had been entertained.  Salem had wanted to crawl under the floorboards.  
      
"No."  He deadpanned.  
      
Max smirked, "So…yes for everyone else."  
      
Salem pursed his lips, "Maybe…"  
      
" _C'est la vôtre_?"  Bastian grinned a little too innocently, pointing his finger at a pink, sparkly roller bag.  
      
Biting his lip, Max ducked his head to hide his smile, and Salem cuffed the Frenchman on the back of his head.  An obese woman in a too tight cheetah print catsuit that practically had her boobs spilling over the top, sniffed at the three of them as she yanked said glitter covered pink suitcase off the carousel.  Salem bit one of the rings in his lip, hiding a smile and beneath the curtain of his hair.  Bastian, he could see out of the corner of his eye, beamed sweetly at her even as she huffed and turned away on her heel.  
      
Salem elbowed him in the side as he reached out and pulled his own beat up black suitcase off the carousel, "Idiot."  
      
Sebastian "Seb or Sebby or Bastian or Bas or Sebas even fucking _Crabs_ just not _Sebastien_ " Bonfils was Max's very flamboyant, incredibly French boyfriend.  The kid was smart as hell, Salem would give him that, but a total wild card and insanely dramatic.  And flamboyant—had he mentioned that?  Bastian was the kind of gay who made gays like Salem feel entirely uncomfortable with his continues state of existence, the younger, sexier version of Nathan Lane's character from _The Birdcage_ with a similar occupation.  Petit with café au lait skin, hazel eyes, and a quiff of wood brown bushy hair, Bastian almost consistently wore too many patterns in obnoxious colors in a way that screamed pretentious French douche.  He'd been born in Amiens and had met Max during their undergraduate years in France, then had followed him out to England for postgraduate where he was simultaneously taking two masters at King's College in Language and Cultural Diversity as well as Middle East and Mediterranean Studies because he spoke a ridiculous amount of languages.  He'd also never quite outgrown his years working as a drag queen to pay off his college loans despite now working part-time for the British government as a translator.  
      
He was the kind of guy you loved or hated, and even if you loved him, you didn't always like him.  
      
"Is that _all_?"  Bastian asked, appalled.  
      
"What do you think?  That I'm _moving_ here?"  Salem intoned, and Bastian frowned while Salem smirked and inclined his head towards the pristine, brand-spanking-new wheeled trunk coming around that just _looked_ heavy without even being touched.  
      
Bastian's eyes went wide as he sidled closer to Max, slapping his boyfriend's arm and smiling impishly at him, "Alright Max, you big strong man you, you've got this one, right?"  
      
Max's lip twitched even as he fought to keep his face straight, and Salem quirked an eyebrow as his eyes trailed over Bastien's tiny, lithe frame, "And you're carrying what?"  
      
"Oh, I don't do manual labor," Bastian remarked airily.  
      
Max and Salem shared a look of amusement before Bastian stepped over and hefted the trunk off the line, fighting with the handle while Salem and Bastian watched with amusement until he finally had it free, grinning triumphantly, "Got it."  
      
"I'm so thrilled."  
      
" _C'est tres amusant_ ," Bastian pursed his lips and shot Salem a stony look.  
      
"Watch yourself, Frenchie," Salem pointed a finger at the smaller man who simply shrugged and spun on his heels, walking with swaying hips and obvious swagger.  Salem shot a look to Max who shook his head and fought a smile, nodding at Salem to follow his boyfriend.  
      
Oh, the joy.  
      
They trekked out of Heathrow in a line, weaving through the crowd of people in silence while Salem's phone kept up a steady stream of ringing and pinging in his pocket.  His mother, his half-brother, and Charlie, most likely.  After all, his mother was a worrywart, his half-brother had his own set of frequent flyer miles and always meticulously wanted notification of ascent, descent, and arrival during any of his family's travel arrangements, and Charlie just tended to send random ass message when he got bored on set, which was today especially apparently as he'd been sending the texts since Salem had crawled out of bed to start his long day of travel at the crack of down––yesterday?––morning.  
      
Bastian hopped into the passenger's seat of his family's passed down, ancient but refurbished Peugeot 205 GTI while Max hefted open the trunk and tossed Salem's bags in as he handed them off.  Salem raised his eyes at Max over the hooded just before climbing in, and Max snorted but shrugged half-heartedly with a lop-sided half-smile.  Yes, he really loved the dolt, God only knew why.  
      
"So," Max started nearly twenty minutes later as they sped down the A4 and Bastian kept made snide comments about their upcoming exits, "you get your class schedule for this semester yet?"  
      
"Trimester, you mean?"  Salem asked with a groan.  
      
Bastian scoffed, "My postgrad course is a _year_ long.  A _full_ year.  Please stop your whining."  
      
"You realize that you speak––what is it?––ten languages now?  You could choose to be done with college and start your lucrative career as a universal translator _now_."  
      
"You know, you could _fermé la bouche, s'il vous plaît_."  
      
Salem held his hands up in surrender while Max leaned across the seat to pinch his boyfriend.  Bastian squealed dramatically and swatted his hand away before huffing and flipping the station, settling on some British boyband's latest hit.  _This is about to be my life for the foreseeable future, God help me_.  Max cleared his throat, and Salem focused back on the original question, "Um...yeah, though.  I'm taking Cryptography and Information Security, Software Measurement and Testing, Computer Graphic Systems, and an Independent Study to work on my cell phone prototype."  
      
Max frowned and looked over the seat.  Bastian slapped the crown of his head, "Watch the road!  _Mon Dieu_!"  
      
"Cell phone prototype?"  
      
Bastian glanced back at him with curiosity, "You plan to be the next Steve Jobs?"  
      
"Wouldn't that be nice?  I highly doubt any product could outcompete with Apple considering how well established they are."  
      
"I thought you were majoring in computer engineering not statistics and pessimism," Bastian commented.  
      
Max nodded, "All empires have to fall."  
      
"Like Rome."  
      
"This is a respected technology corporation not a corrupt nation," Salem pointed out.  "Even I use Apple, and I'm a software snob."  
      
"I thought you'd already made a cell phone prototype.  Yeah, so I'm mainly using my independent study for my side-project."  
      
"What side project?"  Bastian and Max asked simultaneously, easing to a stop outside what Salem assumed was the apartment building that Georgia had conned everyone into being involved in.  
      
Salem pursed his lips and offered a thin smile, "That's for me to know and you to find out."  
      
Max flipped him off, and Bastian huffed, hopping out of the car before it had come to a complete and total stop.  
      
"Your boyfriend's crazy."  
      
"I know," Max remarked, climbing out.  Salem followed, grabbing his bag and lugging them after Max, glancing back at the aged car.  
      
"Is that even street legal since the steering wheel is on the left?"  
      
Max shrugged, "It's in his name.  I let it go."  
      
"Gotcha."  Salem nodded as they climbed the walk-up stairs that were undoubtedly going to make Salem's life hell.  
      
Already he missed his all-access, rent controlled Boston apartment with a concierge, 24-hour gym, and his vintage Mustang that made Mia Thermopolis's car look like a track ready race car.  Even still, at least then he'd had an elevator, parking, and shit to do.  Georgia just needed to live in luxury no matter what anybody else wanted.  And if Bastian and Max hadn't begged, then Salem would be living in _his_ version of luxury, which consisted of a lot less space and a lot more _stuff_.  He was a boy who liked toys.  
      
The door was cracked open from Bastian's entrance and the sounds of Breaking Fourth filtered out from the interior.  Salem sighed between living with Georgia and Bastian's quirks, Salem would have a tough time surviving the year let alone living in a flat with them.  
      
Max noticed the face Salem made and snorted, "You'd better get used to Breaking Fourth.  It's kind of his thing."  
      
"And Georgia?"  
      
"She's more Azadi than anything right now."  
      
Salem pulled a face, "That Persian pop band?"  
      
He nodded, "The very same."  
      
Salem couldn't exactly say that made him _happy_ , but he'd take almost everything over boy bands.  He hadn't liked Nsync, the Backstreet Boys, or the Beatles so these contemporary hot-to-trot singing about sex, sunshine, and unicorns boy bands were definitely not his cup of tea.  Then again, neither was living with Georgia, but somehow that had been where he ended up with it being too late for him to turn back when his Visa had been staring him in the face.  
      
The apartment was gaudy but decently sized and reasonably furnished.  
      
It looked like an apartment shared by a showgirl and a drag queen with only little accents that screamed Max placed among them.  The walls were brightly colors, the lampshades were sequenced or furry, the couch ultra contemporary white leather with frighteningly patterned accent pillows and stuffed animals on the couch, and sat around a large flat screen television.  Chick flicks and CD were stacked in the shelving units behind trinkets and framed photos that cluttered almost every surface, warring for space.  The floor was all sheepskin rugs and fluorescence.  
      
The kitchen table was glass and chrome, stuck in a corner, and piled high with papers and books, right next to the opening of a cluttered kitchen, dishes piled high in the sink, which was where Bastian had retreated.  Not that he was washing dishes, but he was propped up on the counter munching on Lays potato chips and singing along to whatever happy-dippy song was playing from his iPad, plugged into the wall.  
      
One of the house's only redeeming qualities was the large patio that the kitchen and living room bordered on two sides that seemed to have been claimed by Max given how it was serene and not obnoxious, subdued as opposed to bawdy.  Granted, there was a gnome, a sea of flamingos tucked away in the back corner, and a ceramic cat but otherwise it wasn't horrible and definitely could have been worse.  
      
Salem's room was blissfully tucked away at the end of the hall just passed everyone else's and was little more than a box with a mattress and bed frame.  Max dropped his trunk in the corner while Salem tossed his bag on the bed and dropped to sit cross-legged on the mattress, raising his eyebrows at Max who lingered, leaning against the doorframe.  Max crossed his arms over his chest and waited while Salem sighed and ran his hands over his face.  "What am I doing here, Max?  I should be in Boston with an internship at a high functioning technology company, and on a one way track to owning a start-up in Silicon Valley.  Not studying a subject I'm already well versed on in London."  
      
Max pursed his lips and sighed, "You know why you're here."  
      
"Because _Georgia_ asked me, right?  Because even though she's a selfish bitch who burned me once I still jump when she says so."  
      
He held up his hands, "You said it, not me."  
      
Salem sighed in frustration and ran a hand over his face, "Look, I can handle taking a year from MIT to study in King's College.  I can delay my internship with Google that I had all lined up in my ten year plan.  I can even handle your flamboyant boyfriend and his love of boybands.  But I don't know if I can handle Her Majesty Queen Georgia and her never ending parade of me me me for more than a couple hours a year.  You know I saw her dad before I left?  I went to see Mr. Hanson looking like a shriveled up portion of Voldemort's soul, lying half dead in a hospital bed, and all he could talk about was his 'wonderful baby Georgie'.  The man gave her _everything_.  He's _dying_.  And she won't even step foot in the country for a week to see him."  
      
"Maybe she's—"  
      
"Don't defend her," Salem cut him off sharply.  "The bitch went out of her way to get her ass to Rio so that she could mooch events tickets off of you, but she had a connecting flight through Atlanta and _still_ didn't go visit him.  She's from a white collar family, didn't have a broken home until _she_ broke it—"  
      
"Sale."  
      
"What?  She _did_.  It was her fault they got a divorce."  
      
"That was—"  
      
"I know, I know.  'It's personal.'  That's why I'm being so unfair.  It wasn't really her fault she felt that way, but because I was directly impacted by her decision I view it through a harsher world view or something.  Are you sure that you're not really a psych student?"  
      
Max laughed, "Nah, just the result of having a therapist for a mother.  She tended to psychoanalyze once a week at family dinner."  
      
"Whoo-hoo," Salem deadpanned.  
      
"Yeah, I know," Max laughed before quieting and watching Salem carefully.  "London'll be fun despite Georgia.  Everything'll be okay.  You and me and Bas, I promise you won't regret coming here, okay?  I mean, we talked about rooming together and hanging around for a summer since we started talking."  
      
Salem snorted, "Point."  
      
"Exactly, now we got a year to do whatever it is that we want to do."  
      
He quirked an eyebrow, "You mean between college, my project, your internship, your boyfriend, all that?"  
      
Max leaned forward to slap Salem's head, "Damn you're a fucking pessimist.  Like you won't have a boyfriend in an hour and a half."  
      
Salem rolled his eyes as Bastian appeared in the doorway beside Max, wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing himself up against his boyfriend's side.  "So as your 'welcome to the neighborhood' _soiree_ , we're going to Pacha tonight!  It's this club.  Awesome.  Great.  Exciting.  J'aime parties."  
      
With a half smile curving up his lips, Salem eyed Bastian skeptically, "What if I don't?"  
      
" _C'est impossible_ ," Bastian shrugged and leaned forward to kiss Salem on each cheek before patting his head indulgently.  He scowled but didn't comment on the gesture,  " _Bienvenue á la maison_."  It was a sweet welcome, and Salem smiled at his friend's boyfriend as he disappeared into the hallway, calling over his shoulder, "We're meeting Georgia there in like three hours!"  
      
Grimacing, Salem looked to an apologetic Max, "For about two seconds there I actually _liked_ your boyfriend."  
      
"Yeah, yeah, play nice with my man, dickwad."  
      
Salem laughed.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...no Bailey in this chapter, but I think he is going to be in the next chapter. I got my student loans handled whoo! Pacha is a legitimate club, and Middlesex is having an event there the first day I'm in England (so I might go, my mom says I should...we'll see). I don't speak French or Japanese (though I do have a half-Japanese friend who speaks it fluently). Now I can go stress about my school still not responding about my CAS number and writing chapter seventeen...I think. So there you go, Google Translate provided the French, sorry if it's horrible I only know basic French and there will not be a lot of French butchering, and Japanese is so far out of my element, but, again, it's mostly single words and a whole lot of research. I do want to learn Russian though (random). See you Friday :)


	5. "Fancy" Iggy Azalea ft. Charli XCX

**Text message from Bas to Caroline**  
 **Bas** : Just reminding u Pacha 2nite @ 2100hrs  
 **Caroline** : Is this ur bienvenue party 4 ur bf's bff  
 **Bas** : Oui  
 **Caroline** : He hot?  
 **Bas** : Mais oui XD  
 **Caroline** : He single?  
 **Bas** : Et tres, tres gay  
 **Caroline** : They always r w/ u. I protest  
 **Bas** : Free alcohol?  
 **Caroline** : I withdraw my protest  
 **Bas** : Figured :D  
  
 **Georgia Hanson (@ChangedGeorgia)**  
Partying 2nite with @FatherMax @Salem_Daiki @prettyboyBas @Bon_Carol #Pacha #Party #GoodTimes  
  
 **Tasha Petrovna (@Mama_Petrovna)**  
@ChangedGeorgia better keep my baby boys out of trouble  
  
 **Georgia Hanson (@ChangedGeorgia)**  
@Mama_Petrovna acts like the problems are always my fault  
  
 **Tasha Petrovna (@Mama_Petrovna)**  
@ChangedGeorgia act like they aren't  
  
 **Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**  
I'm drowning in passive aggression #jetlag  
  
 **Kanani Kapuana (@Kanani_Pahala)**  
Night out with my best girls #Pacha  
  
 **Group MMS from Rafa to Carey and Bailey**  
 **Rafa** : Come be good wingmen  
 **Rafa** : Pacha. 21:30. Im on the hunt  
 **Carey** : Caroline doesnt want u or ur gf drama  
 **Rafa** : So ur in?  
 **Bailey** : How is this my life?  
 **Rafa** : Dont tell Chloe

* * *

 

"Rafa!"  A feminine voice called out cheerfully, hurling herself through the crowd to wrap her lithe, scantily clad frame around the Brazilian's body, and Bailey just barely managed to refrain from comment on his polyamorous habits when she pulled back.  
      
 _Bloody hell that was close._  
      
Kanani flipped her dyed dirty blonde locks out of her face as she kissed Rafa's cheek and then turned to do the same to Carey in greeting before she turned a coy smile on Bailey.  He raised his eyebrow at her, and she smirked as she leaned forward to embrace him, closing the distance between the two of them and pressing a kiss to his jawline.  In heels, she stood an inch or so taller than Bailey who rocked back on his heels, arm automatically encircling her waist as he looked up at her.  
      
She beamed, "Hey baby."  
      
"Nani," Bailey replied dryly while Carey shook his head dramatically at Bailey's utter lack of response for the woman standing in front of him.  Rafa's eyes skimmed over her body as he leered at her, and Bailey cleared his throat awkwardly, remarking decidedly detached, "You look lovely."  
      
Carey face-palmed, and Rafa shook his head.  Kanani knew better, though, bursting out laughing as she kissed Bailey's forehead indulgently, "Adorable, you, really."  
      
"You're an amazing woman for thinking so," Carey remarked without any real heat, though the tone held blatant reproach.  It was nice to know his friends approved of Kanani—or _would_ if he'd had any actual interest in her.  
      
Rafa threw an arm over her thin shoulders and smiled playfully as he leaned over to stage-whisper in Kanani's ear, "Any time you get tired of this ice queen over here, you're welcome to come see home a Brazilian man lights it up in the sack."  
      
Kanani laughed and slipped Rafa's hold, looping her arm through Bailey's and tugging him, "I'll keep that in mind!"  Rafa gave her a thumbs up, and she giggled as she looked over at Bailey, "Come on lover.  Buy me a drink?"  
      
"Of course," Bailey offered.  
      
 _That_ he could do.  
      
As for what his friends believed and expected, neither he nor Kanani were capable of despite Kanani still living on planet denial of her own sexuality.  She continued to insist she wasn't a lesbian regardless of the fact that Bailey hadn't seen her have sexual contact with any person of the male persuasion in the entire duration of their year long friendship.  Kanani was without a doubt a lesbian and entirely restless, using her modeling as an excuse as to why she hadn't put down roots anywhere and didn't even have a permanent address, using Bailey's as her mailing address.  And Bailey suffered from no delusions of grandeur that he was experimenting.  
      
He was gay.  
      
 _That_ wasn't even remotely in question, but it would continue to be his dirty little secret well into his retirement from football so as not to cast a dark shadow over his entire career.  
      
"What can I get you today?"  The bartender inquired.  
      
"Old fashioned for me," Kanani said before looking to Bailey who shook his head.  Kanani sighed, "And a Shirley Temple for grandpa here."  After a beat, Kanani added, "He's paying."  
      
The bartender laughed and looked at Bailey, "Designated driver?"  
      
"Always," he answered, pulling out his wallet and handing over his credit card, eyes catching on the slip of paper he'd been unable to throw away even after memorizing the information on it.  He'd slipped it into the fold of his wallet to avoid from actually _dialing_ the number written on it under the name 'Salem Petrov' that had hastily been scribbled over the American number, Georgia area code.  
      
Not that he'd checked.  
      
He'd also pointedly _not_ checked out the man's Twitter or looked to see if he had a Facebook because clearly Bailey had no self-control and would have snapped the way he'd wanted to since an hour after Salem had slipped out of his room after three days of ridiculously amazing sex and fixing Bailey's evil computer.  
      
Closing his wallet and slipping it back into his pocket, Bailey thanked the bartender as she handed them their drinks and walked away.  Kanani danced in place, moving her hips to "Wiggle" by Jason Derulo spilling over the sound system and flooding the darkened club; she sipped her old-fashioned, eyes roving over the crowd before she glanced over at Bailey.  "So what are you doing here?  I thought you hated clubbing?"  
      
That may have been because Bailey _hated_ clubbing and parties and large social gatherings where he only felt more aware of how disconnected he felt with the rest of society.  
      
He shook his head.  "I do, but I was guilt-tripped into coming down and playing wingman in some insane attempt for Rafa to get Caroline Bonfils's attention."  
      
"The team's head of PR?"  Kanani balked.  
      
Bailey shrugged.  Yeah, he didn't get that one either.  
      
Caroline Bonfils was beautiful undoubtedly with a thick halo of short wood brown curls, big hazel eyes that were so comically doe-eyed they resembled some kind of manga character, and flawless cafe au lait skin.  The woman was petite and curvaceous with an ample chest and bubble butt.  Exactly the Brazilian's type and completely uninterested in him.  He'd seen her once after she'd first been hired, promptly declared her the future Mrs. Correa, and then had done everything in his power to make himself utterly unattractive to her.  She'd cleaned up enough of his PR messes to never want to shag him, and yet he remained steadfast in his pursuit of her regardless of his girlfriends.  
      
Yeah, not the wisest man.  
      
When he'd heard that Caroline was cutting out early to hang out with her brother, his boyfriend, and their newest roommate at a club, Rafa had been all in and recruiting.  A pair of full on puppy dog eyes and a healthy dose of logic later, Bailey was in his own personal version of hell, a hell that only got hotter when Kanani—who'd only let him know the bare minimum about her day with a vague 'out with friends, don't wait up' text—had appeared there as well.  
      
Kanani, her friends who knew she was a lesbian, Bailey, his friends who thought him and Kanani were dating, and the team's head of PR all in one place with access to alcohol.  Nothing about this situation was okay.  _Fuck, I'm one more misstep away from hyperventilating._  
      
A girl wedged himself between Bailey and another girl at the bar, smiling up at him as he looked down at her in surprise.  Bailey shifted uncomfortably but didn't move while Kanani eyed the girl with a distasteful curl to her lips.  Rafa sidled up, pulling Bailey towards him while Carey's eyes skipped from the girl at the bar to Kanani to a truly clueless Bailey, eyebrows rising while Rafa cried dramatically, "There she is!  My angel!"  
      
Bailey nodded politely, peering through the crowd until he caught sight of her controlled nest of curls full out with a short, silver sheath dress, her arm thrown over the narrow shoulders of someone as short as herself with a similar coloring and gelled back, glistening brown hair.  They were laughing off to the side of the DJ's booth with a dark-skinned man with dreadlocks and a tiny slip of blonde girl, another figure standing between the man and woman that was blocked by the siblings.  
      
"We should go say hi, no?"  Rafa waggled his eyebrows.  The look that Kanani shot him clearly disagreed with that, and Bailey outright shook his head even as Rafa towed him through the crowd towards the assembled group.  The Brazilian midfielder made his presence known by releasing his hold on Bailey and tossing an arm around her shoulders.  She stiffened, and Bailey shifted uncomfortably, feeling more than a little lost at sea until Carey appeared beside him, pressing their arms together in a silent sign of reassurance.  
      
It worried Bailey that his friends knew him so well, but he couldn't bring himself to put any unnecessary distance between them.  They boys were his boys.  Benedikt was his father figure that wasn't a complete ass.  And Kanani was his gay life coach.  Quite frankly, he needed them all with their pieces of the puzzle that made him in order to function properly most days.  
      
"Carolina!"  
      
"Rafael."  
      
"What a shock, seeing you here.  I just…we just had to come over and say hello."  
      
Caroline pushed Rafa's arm off her shoulder and turned around to stare at Carey and Bailey with narrowed eyes.  Bailey wiggled awkwardly and offered her a weak wave while Carey grinned broadly.  
      
She sighed and turned back to Rafa, "Next time you try to fake random happenstance meetings don't bring the stick-in-the-mud."  
      
Bailey tensed.  Carey patted his shoulder.  Rafa frowned at Caroline, "His girlfriend's here."  
      
Caroline still didn't look the slightest bit convinced, but the tiny man beside her who looked easily like he could be her twin peered around her to smile broadly at Rafa.  " _Bonjour_.  I'm Sebastian Bonfils, Caroline's _frere.  Et tu_?"  
      
"Rafael Correa," he offered, grinning.  
      
"My pain in the ass," Caroline hissed.  
      
"Arsenal midfielder.  Your sister's future husband."  
      
"Caroline doesn't believe in marriage."  
      
"She hasn't married _me_ yet."  
      
Rolling his eyes, Bailey shared a commiserating look with Carey.  _What an idiotic line, Rafa.  Please, try to sound more like a wanker than you already do._   The dreadlocked guy laugh in a deep, lazy baritone, shaking his head and holding out his hand, "Max Priest."  
      
"My boyfriend," Sebastian finished for him, smiling with unabashed adoration at the man.  
      
Rafa stilled infinitesimally, and Bailey had to resist his own urge to tense.  _Please, please, please don't._ Ever so slightly he relaxed, changing the subject ever so subtly, "Southern?"  
      
"Cajun."  Max nodded, utterly unfettered by the abrupt topic switch.  
      
"Nice, I'm Brazilian."  
      
"Where from?"  
      
"Rio."  
      
Max nodded while the blonde girl with them laughed, "We've just got a good deal of the world over her."  
      
Rafa beamed at her with the sly, flirtatious look spread across his face as he said, "You're Southern."  
      
She giggled, "Yes sir I am."  
      
There was a sigh, and Bailey could picture the eye roll, face palm combo from the person he still couldn't quite see.  Max shook his head though and patted the person between them while the woman shot him a dark look, "And this is our newest token American squatter, Salem Petrov."  
      
 _What the—no_.  
      
Bailey couldn't quite hear what came next, what nonsense Rafa was spewing that caused Caroline and Sebastian to step to the aide, peering back at him and Carey and simultaneously giving him an unobstructed view of the man who'd been haunting his consciousness for the entire  month or so since their three day… _encounter_ in Rio.  
      
Salem looked exactly the same as he had in Rio minus the shellshocked expression that flickered over his face before it shut down with a forced smile that almost seemed genuine had Bailey not spent a solid seventy-two hours learning every expression on his face and notch on his body.  
      
He'd tied his enviously silky Asian hair back at the nape of his neck, his overlong bangs pinned to the side so that his jade eyes sparkled and glinted freely, not hidden behind the curtain of jet black.  A pair of ankh earrings hung from his ear to his shoulder with the rest of his ear piercings filled in with spiky, multicolored studs.  He had a pair of Batman studs in his lips and a ring through his nose piercing, eyes flitting from person to person, blatantly trying to avoid eye contact with Bailey who both appreciated the effort and simultaneously hated him for it.  His fingers ached to touch the man who still oozed sex even in a pair of simple black slouch skinny jeans, checkered Vans, and a button up shirt with a Ramones t-shirt underneath.  
      
"Bailey?"  
      
"What?"  Bailey answered, snapping to and yanking his attention to a frowning Rafa.  Caroline had her arms crossed over her chest, raising her eyebrows at him.  
  
 _Fuck, fuck, fuck.  Focus._  
      
"Did you hear––?" Rafa started carefully.  
      
Bailey cut him off abruptly, too worked up to really listen to anything Rafa had to say and needing to escape either before he started hyperventilating or before someone asked him to drag his lesbian girlfriend away from her all-too-knowing group of model friends.  Shaking his head jerkily, Bailey forced out through clenched teeth, "I need a drink."  
      
Carey raised his eyebrows while Rafa coughed and repeated in utter shock, " _You_ need a _drink_?"  
      
"I'll go too," Salem volunteered.  
      
Turning on the heel of his shoe, Bailey started marching back towards the bar, his ears automatically trying to pick up the sound of footsteps behind him to hear if Salem was really following.  His heart pounded furiously, and he couldn't decide whether or not he actually _wanted_ Salem to come after him or not.  
      
Okay, that was a lie; he _knew_ he wanted Salem to come after him.  He just didn't know what he would actually do.  
      
Finally he came to a stop at the bar and flagged down a bartender, "Vodka and cranberry please."  
      
Someone came up beside him and shook his head, " _I'll_ have a Guinness.  _He'll_ have a Shirley Temple.  On me."  He handed off his credit card while the bartender nodded his head, shooting a quick glance to Bailey before turning away.  
      
Bailey turned to glare at Salem who simply raised his eyebrows and shook his head, "I saw you on alcohol.  A newborn baby could handle more alcohol intake than you.  Took one sip of red wine, and you were giggly and falling all over yourself.  Nonalcoholic."  
      
With a sigh, Bailey ran a hand over his face, glancing sideways at Salem before bridging carefully, "Salem––"  
      
 _What are you doing here?  When are you leaving?  Are you going to ruin everything I'm working to keep under wraps?  How did you find me?  Can we pretty pretty please do all that again?  Did you miss me as much as I missed you after only three days of minimal communication and a whole lot of sexual interaction?_  
      
"You're about to make this awkward, aren't you?"  Salem asked offhandedly with a grateful smile to the bartender as she came by to drop of their drinks.  
      
"No, I––"  
      
"So, _yes_ ," Salem nodded knowingly, looking completely unbothered by that.  "I promise, I actually didn't come here to stalk you.  Apparently my friend's boyfriend's sister is the apple of your friend's eye or something like that so not a _total_ coincidence, but this is not my fault."  
      
"Did I say anything?"  
      
Salem barked out a laugh and shook his head, "Not exactly, but I could see it on your face."  
  
 _He has a point._  
      
There was a moment of silence that seemed tense for Bailey but completely _blah, whatever_ for Salem like this was just another day for him.  After a moment, Salem peeked over at Bailey before starting carefully, "So…your girlfriend?"  
      
Bailey snorted and leaned back, relaxing against the bar countertop and drowning out the sound of Ariana Grande's "Problem" as he shot back with, "So, your boyfriend?"  
      
"Is now my ex-boyfriend and happily sleeping with his cameraman's roommate in Montreal where he goes to school and is interning with a local television station.  What's _your_ excuse?"  
      
Fighting a smile, Bailey took a sip of his Shirley Temple until he could control his expression, looking back at Salem whose eyes hadn't left Bailey since he sat down.  He shifted and his stomach clenched.  _Butterflies in my stomach, God I feel like a girl._   "Kanani is my on-and-off, unofficial lesbo beard."  
      
Salem snorted, "Nice.  Never seen a dyke and a fag being friends."  
      
"That was incredibly offense."  
      
"I don't really like PC."  
      
"PC?"  
      
"Political correctness," Salem shrugged with his lips pursed.  "I'm American.  I can't say the word 'black' without having preachers, Democrats, the Black Panthers, the NAACP, _and_ the DoJ up my ass.  It's like have you ever actually _lived_ in an inner city area where if I don't say 'black' I have to go down the list of possible countries your ancestors could have descended from.  Ain't nobody got time for that."  
      
Bailey bit back a laugh, "The British don't have the problem.  We're not nearly as sensitive as Americans."  
      
"That because you conquered everybody while the Americans were still trying to play nice.  Career politicians."  
      
"Ours are hierarchical, though.  Which is worse?"  Bailey pursed his lips.  
      
"The ones who pretend that they worked hard to become one.  'I'm a man of the people who went to an Ivy League school and has more connections that Facebook.'  Makes perfect sense.  At least Britain's lacking the pretense."  
      
Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, Bailey snagged Salem's cranberry and vodka out from under his watchful eye, "That why you fled?"  
  
"Hells to the yes.  It happened like this: I hacked the NSA, got my hands on confidential information, and now came here for asylum from politicians that would crucify me…or, you know, have the CIA kidnap me and lock me in a deep, dark, dank dungeon in the depths of the State Department."  Bailey blinked at Salem who took back his drink and sipped it with a sigh before meeting Bailey's eye and shrugged, "At least, two thirds of that story."  
      
Two thirds?  _Wait…what?_  
  
Salem continued on while Bailey literally had his mind blown because, seriously, what two thirds of that story were _true_?  "I'm studying abroad for the year at King's College because I allowed a bad childhood friend to talk me into taking a year when I could be interning for Google in Cali and taking my MIT courses in Stanford.  Life's great.  Yeah, totally."  Salem deadpanned while Bailey smiled at him slightly, bowing his head to hide his smile.  The tip of Salem's Vans poked his calf, and Bailey peeked up at him.  Salem smiled sweetly at him, "It's okay to smile, you know?  Or are all you Brits like against public displays of emotion?"  
      
Biting his lip, Bailey shook his head and bowed his head, letting his hair fall forward in his face.  Salem's hand reached out before he froze, pulled back and wrapped both hands around his drink and gulped down the rest of it.  
      
"It's _me_.  Okay, I get it."  
      
"I…no."  
      
 _No_ but _yes_.  Bailey couldn't exactly deny just how much Salem effected him.  He'd worked hard, for years, to get a handle on his emotional displays and Salem screwed everything up without really trying.  _That_ Bailey had to put the ke-bash on.  A part of him longed not only to just shag the man again but also to _talk_ to him, make fun of him for watching inane, mindless reality television like _Ladies of London_ , which he'd hoped never to watch but had somehow become an observer of over sharing cold sausage links and apple cinnamon crepes.  
      
"Yes.  You're uncomfortable with me being here."  
      
"Look, it's just…this is why I don't—"  
      
"Shit where you eat?"  Salem suggested, his tone falsely light and a feigned smile on his face.  Bailey bit the inside of his cheek and swallowed back the cold feeling welling inside him.  He nodded, "When you get over yourself, give me a call.  I'm assuming you still have my number."  
      
Bailey forced his tone to remain light, "Someone's confident."  
      
Salem's lips quirked up, "Nah.  I just know what I'm worth."  
      
And if _that_ wasn't a slap across the face for his behavior, the way Salem wordlessly accepted his credit card back from the bartender and walked away without a backwards glance undoubtedly was.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa! You're Friday update...I almost forgot since I'm in lala land after yesterday's horseback ride following an all night binge-a-thon for the Lizzie Bennet Diaries (omg the hilarity, I swear). As of right now, I am officially $46,000 in debt thanks to the US Loan Department but lacking a Visa and a CAS number...still. I've had this great idea for a story about faeries/Druids/political intrigue/assassin changelings/gay kings and murderous queens...I'm trying to pace myself. And you're going to be mad at me because I'll be gone all next week. I'm going on vacation! To Florida! To Disney/Harry Potter world (fingers crossed)/Seaworld! I'm excited. I'm going to try to update tomorrow before I go, and after that, you won't hear from me until Monday the 11th. So, I'll see you tomorrow (or maybe later tonight if I can find the laptop plug).


	6. "Am I Wrong" by Nico and Vinz

**Georgia Hanson (@ChangedGeorgia)**  
Omg the start of the new school year #ThirdYear #HereWeGo #BackToSchool  
  
 **Text message from Dane to Salem**  
 **Dane** : Hey, is this Salem Petrov?  
 **Salem** : I feel like I should say no O.O  
 **Dane** : Not being a creep. I'm Dane Crawford.  
 **Dane** : …the business marketing major?  
 **Salem** : Oooooooh. K sorry. Step into my office.  
  
 **Arsenal player's wild nights**  
After a wild, fast-paced game this Saturday against Manchester United that ended in a tie for the two teams, both clubs went out afterward to local Manchester hotspot, partying until members of both clubs were forcibly removed due to public disturbance and intoxication.  Notably absent from the incident was Arsenal's young star forward, Arthur Bailey, who reportedly left the club an hour after arriving and returned to assist teammate, Carey Ahearn, back to the hotel.  
  
To: theghostofsalem@gmail.com  
From: jack.mulbery@kingscollege.ac.uk  
Subject: Independent Study  
Hey Salem,  
I looked at your project proposal and suggest you amend it.  The head of the Business and Marketing Department told me you've absconded with one of her students to look into numbers in regards to a technology start-up.  If you would like, I could assist you in that end and we could count that as your independent study but I think otherwise we both know that your prototype is either complete or in its final stages of completion, far beyond what you've insinuated over the past month during our weekly sessions.  We'll talk about this when I see you this week.  
Jack Mulbery  
  
 **RT by @carey_me_home**  
 **Kanani Kapuana (@Kanani_Pahala)**  
That moment when u realize all @ArthurBailey has is nutrition shakes, eggs, and purified water  
  
 **Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**  
This is me having a date tonight #WishMeLuck  
  
 **Charles Beck (@CharlieBeck)**  
@Salem_Daiki I'm sorry to whoever gets to deal with you in your #HateTheWorld funk  
  
 **Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**  
@CharlieBeck fuck you bro -.-

* * *

 

"So," Kanani started, sipping her white wine and smiling through thin frosted lips at the waiter's retreating backside.  Her eyes narrowed on Bailey's iced water, and he completely ignored her look, "are you gonna tell me why you've been such a pill to be around?"  
      
Bailey hadn't even wanted to leave his house.  He'd been perfectly content to stay at home and watch re-runs of _Game of Thrones_ and _Masters of Sex_.  Instead, he'd gotten a groaning Kanani, glaring into the depths of his industrial, stainless steel refrigerator in a pair of yoga pants, a sports bra, and with her long hair piled up on top of her hair for nearly a quarter of an hour before she threw a Hawaii 5-0 t-shirt on and dragged Bailey out of the house to grab dinner at her favorite Thai restaurant.  
  
 _Fuck my diet apparently._  
      
Except it hadn't, not too badly, not if Bailey behaved and stuck to water and his mixed seafood salad.  Everything would be fine…if Kanani just stopped asking question.  The last thing he wanted to do was talk about Salem not after the past four weeks that had seen him having maybe four rounds of incredibly unsatisfactory sex when the team had been away and once on Halloween when he'd had the extremely poor judgment to hook up with one of Carey's gay family friends.  Of course, one of those times had been interrupted by a very pissed off phone call from Caroline screaming at him to get his ass down to the club in Manchester he'd just left to pick up his drunk teammates, but the rest of the time all he could picture was Salem Petrov and how all of his temporary partners were just not him.  It was an obvious fact that had put a very serious crimp in his libido.  
      
Kanani snapped her French manicured fingers in front of his face, and Bailey startled, looking up to meet her bugging out, 'are you fucking serious' eyes.  "What?"  
      
"What?"  Kanani repeated doubtfully, "What do you mean _what_?  Space case.  Head case.  When's the last time you got laid?"  
      
Bailey scowled, "Last night."  
      
She choked on her wine and carefully, pointedly rested the wine glass back on the table, "What do you mean 'last night'?  'Last night' was Carey's Halloween party.  'Last night' we were both in Primrose Hill with your team, their girlfriends, and assorted other of the Irishman's family and his local football acquaintances.  I know you don't mean that you fucked someone in the London metropolitan area."  
      
Sighing tiredly, Bailey ran a hand through his hair.  Truly, it wasn't one of Bailey's finer moments.  For a single, very poor shag with someone he barely even knew (though that was admittedly nothing knew and hardly anything for him to balk over) he'd thrown every rule he'd ever made for himself right out the window.  He was borderline self-destructive like Salem's disappointment had broken something inside of him, made him push boundaries that he wouldn't ordinarily push.  
      
Frankly, Bailey needed to get it together.  
      
Or just hook up with Salem again.  
      
Or both.  
      
If he could just sleep with Salem one more time without having a panic attack about being discovered as a homosexual, then Bailey could guarantee he'd just feel a lot better.  Okay, if he could just have Salem look at him like he wasn't the lowest, slimiest piece of self-hating, homophobic shit that he'd seen on planet Earth Bailey might feel a whole hell of lot better.  He'd grown a thick skin after going on three years as a professional sports player who'd started young with a lot of natural talent, people always had something to say.  But Salem's opinion just _mattered_ to him.  He _cared_ that Salem had looked at him like his entire existence was pathetic.  
      
"Technically," Bailey started carefully, tone bland, already bracing for the upcoming slap, "Sean's from the Belfast area.  He only came down to visit Carey."  
      
Without a delay, Kanani slapped him, "Bailey!"  
      
"Nani!"  
      
"You slept with a mobster!"  
      
Bailey kicked her leg under the table, and Kanani scowled at him as she reached down to rub her calf, "Keep your voice down, love."  
      
She fumed, taking a deep breath before closing her eyes.  Once upon a time, Kanani had gone to anger management school, somewhere between when her surfer boy boyfriend had dumped her to go pro and her first agent had run away with all her money leaving her stranded in a tiny, sketch apartment in New York with maybe $20 to her name.  Bailey could practically see her counting to ten in her head to reduce the urge to choke him.  
      
 _Aw, the magic of friendship._  
      
Kanani's eyes opened, and she glared malevolently at Bailey and whisper-hissed, "You slept with a motherfucking mobster."  
      
"Language," Bailey purred demurely.  Kanani's eyes narrowed further, and Bailey shrugged, "Is Sean _really_ a mobster?  I think it's only an allegation at this point that he's involved with the Irish mob."  
      
"And I think you're delusional…and retarded."  
      
Bailey sighed and rolled his eyes, shaking his head and gulping down his ice cold water.  He could feel Kanani's angry gaze still locked on him but was saved the attempt to explain himself when their waiter appeared with his salad and Kanani's Pad Thai chicken.  She smiled kindly at the man while Bailey breathed a temporary sigh of relief at his reprieve, _saved by the waiter man who is totally trying to pretend like he's not eye fucking me._  
  
Uncomfortable.  
      
Wordlessly but without breaking her gaze on him, Kanani shoveled some of her noodles into her mouth, glaring him unfalteringly.  He attempted to ignore her, picked at his salad and tossing shrimps into his mouth.  She stared.  He ate.  When the tension had become unnervingly uncomfortable, Bailey dropped his silverware onto his plate and rested his elbows on the table, dropping his head into his hands and staring up at her expectantly.  Already he could picture the headlines about their date, the difficulties of their relationship, how sources closest to them say that they're going through a 'tough time' and the distance is 'too much'.  
      
Better to just clear the air now before dinner grew anymore hostile.  
      
Nodding, Kanani tugged absently on a strand of her hair, taking a quick shot of her £50 white wine liquid courage before she leaned forward with a pleading expression on her face, " _You're_ the one who came up with the no fucking where you live and work and are ridiculously well known rule.  _You_ not me, though I definitely think it's a decent rule considering all the risks of having…that kind of a relationship in your profession."  
      
"Thanks Mum," Bailey nodded, trying to keep his tone light while seething on the inside.  It was nearly identical to the conversation he'd had four years ago when he'd come out.  
      
Releasing a breath of frustration, she clenched her jaw and downed the rest of the wine in a single swallow before slamming her glass back on the table and frowning at him.  "I'm not–– I don't––" Kanani sighed and pressed her lips to her knuckles before shifting to rest her chin on it and trying again.  "I'm not trying to––"  
      
"I know," Bailey cut off, tone sharp.  
  
"But you can't pretend like it isn't a risk.  Chicks sleeping with chicks in the modeling industry is like finding a vegan in the South.  It's not totally out there but it's definitely not the norm.  Guys sleeping with guys in pro sports?  People would hang your effigy from Big Ben and set it on fire while talking about how you've been ogling and infecting people in the showers."  
      
"It was an aberration," Bailey promised weakly.  
      
Kanani hardly looked convinced, "Bailey."  
      
"I swear."  
      
"You've been _weird_ , Bay."  Kanani stated outright while he sighed and rolled his eyes, dropping his head back to blow out his breath through his lips, "I'm not happy about this but it's hardly unexpected.  Ever since Pacha you've been ridiculously down in the dumps.  Noticeably.  Which is completely out of my comfort zone when it comes to stoic you."  
      
"I'm not that stoic."  
      
"You need to listen."  He really wished he'd gotten himself hard alcohol now.  "Football fans don't care that your daddy's swimmers screwed your genes and made you more interested in dick than chick."  
      
"Neither does my father," Bailey muttered.  
      
"They will crucify you anyway.  You said no dating because it wouldn't be fair that you have to hide it indefinitely to whoever you're with.  I get that, but I also get it's the only way you'd even be remotely safe sleeping in the same area where you're well known.  The last thing you want to do is become Cris."  
      
Bailey saw her point but also rolled his eyes, "I will not.  They never suspect pro-athletes.  Just look at Sidney Crosby.  Besides, Cris is in a _boy band_.  It's a statistical improbability that one of them _isn't_ gay."  
      
"One Direction kind of averages it out, don'tcha think?"  Kanani asked innocently before waving her hand and realizing she'd been effectively distracted.  "Bailey."  
      
"Kanani.  I recognize that I've been…off."  She raised her eyebrows at his description of his month-long mood; he continued regardless, "I just got a heavy dose of reality and remembered that despite what the last couple years have lead me to believe, I can't have everything I want.  I'll get over it."  
  
"Over him?"  Kanani asked with a shrewd gaze.  
      
Bailey bit the inside of his cheek and frowned, running a hand through his head and turning his head just enough to catch a glimpse of average height, medium build, decidedly partly Asian sexiness walking through the door looking entirely bored with a man's arm thrown over his shoulder.  Immediately, whatever Kanani was saying fell to the wayside as his eyes locked onto Salem, watching as the older man ducked his head and ran his fingers through his thick bangs, now an acid green, quirking his pierced eyebrow and rolling his jade eyes at whatever his date–– _boyfriend? I'm going to go with 'date' for my sanity_ ––had just said but nodded once, letting the guy guide him to a table with a hand resting on the small of his back.  
      
Eyes tracking him across the room, Bailey watched as Salem sat down across the seat, eyes ghosting over the menu with the cool detachment of someone who either didn't want to be there or was having an absolutely horrific time.  Against his will, Bailey's lips twitched up into a smile while Kanani slapped her open hand on the table top.  Jerking his attention back around to his friend, Bailey raised his eyebrows at her emotional display while Kanani threw her hands up in the air.  
      
"Oh my God Bailey.  Here we go _again_ space case."  
      
"Look," Bailey shook his head, digging his wallet out of his pocket and holding up his finger, "just chill for a second, okay?"  His fingers caught on the creased slip of paper, and he unfolded it as he pulled out his cell phone.

* * *

 

This was why Salem didn't do blind dates.  
      
Correction: _Robert Thornton_ was the reason Salem didn't allow _Max and Bastian_ to set him up on blind dates.  
      
Robert was nice––boring––and put together––borderline snobby––and attractive––but lacking in sexual chemistry.  As far as look went, Salem could go for it.  Brawny but not bodybuilder scary brolic, scruffy with a thick 11 o'clock shadow with wispy, feathery hair that needs a cut, and tanned skin that screamed he'd spent his fair share of time outside, something Salem couldn't help but admire since Salem's whole career center around sterile computer centers.  
      
The thing was that Robert, who Max had met at Westminster during his one and only attempt at a philosophy course (that had lasted all of five minutes).  Apparently Bastian had met him during a pub crawl and had declared him (drunkenly most likely) to be the most adorable little philosopher he'd ever had the pleasure of meeting.  _When the hell did_ Bastian _meet any other philosophers ever, at all?_ Regardless, somehow Robert's future career goals as Aristotle's doppelganger made him the perfect catch for Salem.  
      
Yep, Salem had sat through his freshmen core curriculum ethics class and talked about Nichomachean ethics and moral value and the meaning of happiness and utilitarianism.  Quite honestly, he'd rather never talk about it again.  He wasn't Spock with the excessive desire to talk computer shit and science, but if there was one thing he couldn't stand it was philosophy and psychology, which Robert seemed to think was stimulating conversation.  
      
 _Dear God save me._  
      
As if matter couldn't get any worse, Salem's love of comfort food took a hit when Robert had dragged him all the way out to Hampstead to go to some cutesy Thai food place.  If there was one thing Salem couldn't stand, it was Asian food, which was pretty sad given his Japanese ancestry.  His dad wasn't pleased, especially when Salem had broken down halfway through a week long visit and cooked pelmeni in the kitchen.  He'd eat weird ass Russian food like his mother made but couldn't swallow tempura without grimacing like he'd just munched on his mother's placenta.  
      
His phone went off in his pocket, and Salem rolled his lip ring in his mouth while discreetly pulling it out and in his lap under the table.  He frowned down at the 'unknown number' before opening up the text, tuning out Robert's ramblings on the validity of John Stuart Mills's Principle of Utility and that if human beings need to fulfill their utility to find happiness what is our utility and blah, blah, blah.  
  
 **Unknown** : is it the food or the company?  
      
Salem frowned, floundering for a minute and nodding absently at a question Robert posed to him.  _No, Robert, John Stuart Mills's supposition makes no sense and has so, so many holes but I really don't have time to argue about the utility of the human species._  
  
 **Salem** : Who the hell is this?  
  
 **Unknown** : U look like ur abt to chew ur own leg off  
      
Biting his bottom lip and biting back a smile, Salem looked up, eyes coasting around the busy Thai place before shaking his head and simply turning his attention back to his phone.  Robert hadn't paused in his monologue, and their waiter looked ready to kill them for not ordering anything.  
  
 **Salem** : What does someone who hates Asian food order at a Thai place?  
  
 **Unknown** : U h8 asian food? dont they kick u out of asia for that?  
  
 **Salem** : Just that?  There are so many other reasons to choose from.  
  
 **Unknown** : Wontons?  
  
 **Salem** : Um...no.  
  
 **Salem** : I officially hate John Stuart Mills.  
  
 **Unknown** : The fuck is that? Curry?  
  
 **Salem** : I'll pretend you didn't ask.  
      
Salem smiled nervously at the pissy waiter while Robert kept talking with his hands until Salem kicked him under the table.  Robert balked before noticing the waiter, reddening, and nodding his head, "Yeah.  Sorry.  Let me just––"  
  
 **Unknown** : Kaeng jued pak. vegetable soup...sort of  
  
 **Salem** : Trust level 2 stranger.  
      
The waiter raised his eyebrows expectantly while Salem closed his menu, cleared his throat and nodded, "I'll have the Kaeng Jued Pak?  Vegetable soup?  Did I say that right?"  The waiter snagged back the menu and rolled his eyes, turning to march away while Salem made a face at his back side.  His phone buzzed against while Robert started in on Mills's view of higher and lower pleasures while Salem crossed his eyes and his phone buzzed.  
  
 **Unknown** : Nice face. thats attractive.  
  
 **Salem** : Shut up you uneducated pleb. Seriously?  Didn't you take philosophy?  
  
 **Unknown** : Pleb?  im insulted. & 1st no core curriculum 4 uk and no uni 4 me  
      
Biting back a smile and shaking his head, Salem discreetly peered around the room for any sign of who cold be texting him, eyes lingering on a table towards the back corner where a gorgeous Polynesian woman glared at the man across the table from her munching on a salad, a familiar head of thick shaggy hair sticking up wildly but pushed back from his face by a headband.  
      
Salem narrowed his eyes, sending a quick Wikipedia link to the number before snapping a picture of the back of his head and sending it along with a quick message: **This you stranger boy?**  
      
He quirked an eyebrow when the guys shoulder's hefted like he was laughing.  The Hawaiian chick leaned forward to smack the side of his head, but the guy kept laughing without hesitation.  After a moment's hesitation and a fortuitous distraction of the waiter delivering dinner, Salem snapped a picture of the woman and ran it through his facial recognition program, quirking an eyebrow and pursing his lips when he got a hit.  
      
Kanani Kapuana.  Model for some pretentious London based modeling agency.  Apparent lover of Betsey Johnson clothing.  And the rumored girlfriend of baby superstar soccer player––wouldn't you know it?––Arthur Bailey.  
      
 _Well, at least I don't give out my phone number irresponsibly._  
      
Salem rolled his eyes and pursed his lips, unsure whether or not he was excited or pissed that homophobic homo soccer superstar had the audacity to text him after blowing him off at a bar.  Either way, he added him to his contacts.  
  
 **Bailey** : Oh my god stalker  
  
 **Salem** : Ok Bailey. Who's stalking who?  
      
He glanced up to see Bailey turn around in his seat, a hesitant smile spreading across his face before falling slightly.  Salem quirked an eyebrow while Bailey frowned, looking down at his cell phone while his not-girlfriend threw her hands up in defeat, scowling over at Salem.  
  
 **Bailey** : hi :)  
  
 **Salem** : Emoticons do not make shit ok.  
  
 **Bailey** : Tell ur date John Stuart Mills sounds like a nutcase.  
  
 **Bailey** : If happiness is based on how well i do my 'utility' who the fuck decides that?  
  
 **Bailey** : what is this? the giver?  
      
Without meaning to, Salem cracked a smile.  
  
 **Salem** : 'When people have the ability to choose, they choose wrong.'  
  
Bailey looked up and grinned with almost childlike joy at Salem who rolled his eyes and fought his own smile.  
  
 **Bailey** : Do i have to loose ur #?  
  
 **Salem** : TBD. Jury's still out.  
      
Salem met Bailey's eyes, smiling and shaking his head when he saw the genuine morsel of expression on the usually stoic soccer player's face.  Biting his lip and fighting a futile battle to hide his growing smile, Bailey actually looked like the eighteen year old he, in fact, was.  Running a hand through his hair and flipping his bangs out of his eyes, Salem met the glare of Bailey's companion/roommate/beard before turning back to Robert.  
      
He leaned back in his chair and admitted mid-rant, "Mills's Principle of Utility is ridiculous.."  Robert stuttered, reddened, and threw himself into an argument.  
      
And when Salem knew exactly what the fuck he was talking about?  
      
Yep, Robert was pissed.  Salem was entertained.  And Bailey had spent the entire time sending Salem _Ladies of London_ gifs.  
      
Kiss ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, I bet you thought I forgot about you because I said I'd post a chapter like two Saturdays ago and I didn't (because I procrastinate and ended up packing for the next day when I should have been posting) and then said I'd be gone a week but was gone two (my bad, that one got sprung on me too, which went something like "ah, home" for ten minutes before my mom was like "wrong, off to Tennessee for the week...not impressed). So sorry, I'm back on schedule. My bad. Forgive me! Especially because I've resolved myself to spend the next year not in London but sitting on my couch gorging on Haagen Das and Extreme Moose Tracks because the school is like never ever ever going to give my my CAS number so I can apply for my Visa (you hear that universe I've been asking for FIVE weeks). So thank you for making me feel better by writing and kudos-ing Some Kind of Serendipity and writing nice things about it. Hopefully you like this one too, although Salem and Bailey are certainly more intense as far as their relationship goes O.O Oh, and that John Stewart Mills crap, I took an Ethics course at NYU last summer (and aced it, go me) and that's what I learned (and that I hate philosophy) so...yep. And the Japanese restaurant is a real place whose name totally escape me.


	7. "This Year" by Cooper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First things first, BlueCrest Capital Management is an actual group, Nicholas Ryder probably not, thus how far my research extends and is also bolstered primarily by that former Bravo tv show about venture capitalists and start-up companies (it was a short-lived tv show). I'm in love with Salem's business partners almost more than his friends (and wait for Harley's fiance, he's cool too). Harley is Punjabi (which I mentioned, I think) which is in India but used to belong to Pakistan (I believe). She's Sikh and can't drink alcohol (but totally does cause who's gonna tell) and is a little homophobic (nothing to do with the religion, just how she was raised). Her fiance, though, is not Sikh, but we'll get to that. I just wrote him today. The bar, King's Arm, is real and they do actually have cheese straws. Awesome. It's fair to say I know nothing about corporate law or how to start a business so this is purely the product of research if I'm wrong about something...let's blame it on artistic license ;)

**Irial Dorian (@DorianII)**  
Srsly @ArthurBailey is on fire 2nite XD #Winners #DontTouchMe #BaileyIsLife  
  
 **Cris Emerson (@Cris_Emerson)**  
@DorianII this is me trying to nap #YourEnthusiasmIsUnappreciated  
  
 **RT by @DorianII**  
 **Charles Beck (@CharlieBeck)**  
This is Arsenal v Chelsea game is intense #BaileyKickingAss #CantBreath #IsAnyoneSeeingThis  
  
 **Text message from Bailey to Salem**  
 **Bailey** : u watch?  
 **Salem** : Yep :3  
 **Bailey** : u liar.  
 **Salem** : I saw the highlights.  
 **Bailey** : i still dont believe u  
 **Salem** : Ok so I heard the highlights.  
 **Bailey** : still doubtful  
 **Salem** : Shut up I so did. My bff is a huge Arsenal fan.  
 **Salem** : He wouldn't stop yelling at the tv.  
 **Salem** : Apparently you were excellent today. New dose of steroids?  
 **Bailey** : Lol yea that must be it  
 **Salem** : ;)  
  
To: theghostsofsalem@gmail.com  
From: nicholas.ryder@bluecrestcapital.org.uk  
Subject: Confirmation of Appointment  
Mr. Petrov,  
I'm Nicholas Ryder, a Hedge Fund manager for BlueCrest Capital Management LLC. This is just a confirmation of your appointment on January 19, 2017 at 15:00. If you can no longer make this time slot please let me know so we can re-schedule as soon as possible.  
Best,  
Nicholas Ryder  
Senior Hedge Fund Manager  
BlueCrest Capital Management  
  
 **Carey Ahearn (@carey_me_home)**  
@ArthurBailey is trying to poison me  
  
 **Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**  
@carey_me_home I'm following ur nutrition plan by not letting u gorge on beef. Dont b a drama queen.  
  
To: crawfishdane1017@gmail.com.uk; theharleenquinzel@gmail.com.pk  
From: theghostsofsalem@gmail.com  
Subject: RE: Business Plan  
Hey,  
Yeah we're still meeting at the King's Arm @17:15. And yes, I suppose you can bring your friend/buddy/lover/whatever he is as long as he'll contribute to the dialogue.  
Salem

* * *

 

Cheese straws, Salem decided almost immediately, were as weird as his and Bailey's valiant attempt at friendship, of you could really consider it friendship when you'd once jumped each other's bones and still wanted to judging by the sexually charged conversations they had.  Because they tried to stay away from saucy topics but tended to wind right back up there given that both of them had a penchant for sexually explicit subjects.  
      
But seriously, cheese straws?  
  
 **Bailey** : did u deep fry ur fingers?  
      
That was _exactly_ what they looked like.  Salem curled his lip back, poking them with the tip of his black painted fingernail before pursing his lips.  Harley slapped his hand and pointed a finger at him, then tossed one of the icky looking, unnaturally orange sticks into her mouth, smiling pointedly at him as she chewed.  Rolling his eyes, Salem sipped his coke absently and leaned back in the booth, slipping one of his bracelets off his wrist and rolling it around in his fingers, legs crossed on the seat of the booth.  
  
 **Salem** : Yeah, that's what they look like.  
  
 **Salem** : Think I should try one?  
      
Harley quirked an eyebrow at him as he typed, and Salem ignored her look, genially taking a sip of hit drink while she snorted and shook her head, not meanly but more amused than anything else.  
      
Harleen "it's Harley like Harley Quinn" Bhattal was the geekiest, nerdiest, most financially competent Punjabi that Salem had ever met.  She had that kind of simple Mediterranean beauty with dark waves that fell to her shoulders and made her cute as opposed to downright beautiful.  With a splash of freckles over the bridge of her nose and small rectangular glasses, Harley looked exactly like the finance expert she'd spent the last four years trying to be.  She was in the tail end of finishing her postgraduate degree in finance at twenty-two and had jumped on the opportunity that Salem had laid out for her after meeting her a little over two weeks ago at King's Halloween ball.  
      
Sipping her Kilkenney's and raising an eyebrow, Harley pulled out her tablet and started up another round of Flo while Salem peered around the pub's interior looking for any sign of their wayward puppy, Dane, and his plus one.  When his cell phone beeped, Salem slid it open without even checking the caller ID, not even remotely surprised when he found the text had come from Bailey.  
  
 **Bailey** : do u kno how many calories r in tht?  
      
Salem rolled his eyes.  _Honestly, pro-athletes and their depressing diets._  
  
 **Salem** : Funny enough I don't, and I don't want to.  
  
 **Salem** : Was that a no on trying one then?  
      
"Hey!" Harley greeted cheerfully, and Salem looked up in time to find her hurling herself across the bench to wrap Dane in a tight hug.  
      
The Englishman laughed, speaking in his thick Yorkshire accent, "Hello sweetheart."  Dane's dark blue eyes met Salem's, and he nodded once in greeting while Salem's lips quirked up in an amused smile, "Salem."  Dane's eyes darted down to Salem's phone as it came to life on the table top, "Still at it?"  
      
"Shut up," Salem mumbled, his eyes darting from the scruffy, boy-next-door Sheffield native to the much more put together slicked back blond hair, light brown eyes, mustached and mature-looking man he brought with him.  His eyes looked the guy up and down from head to toe before meeting his steely, brown-eyed gaze, "I'm Salem Petrov, and you're what?  Dane's love slave?"  
      
Harley choked on her drink as the man slid into the booth beside her, Dane landing the hardly coveted seat beside Salem.  The guy raised his eyebrow and glanced at Dane before deadpanning, "And you're as abrasive as he led me to believe."  
      
"I could be worse," Salem remarked coldly, "but as this was supposed to be a meeting about my business I should think you'd understand why I have no patience to pander."  
      
"Right," Dane said awkwardly, "business, that's why I brought Regulus."  
      
Salem blinked and frowned at hi before asking hesitantly, "Regulus?"  _What crack pipe was his mother smoking?_  
      
Regulus's lips twisted into a smile that bordered on feral.  "I'm straight...ish, not that you needed to know that."  
      
"I'm assuming this has a point and that you intend to get to it."  
      
He studied Salem silently for a minute, glancing at the cheese straws and shareable bowl of antipasti sitting on the table top that Dane helped himself to, both Harley and Dane remaining silent as Regulus and Salem felt each other out.  "Salem's an interesting name."  Salem didn't react, humming thoughtfully while cocking his head to study Regulus carefully, "Ever heard about that hacker with a similar name that was wanted by almost every major government in the Western world?"  
      
"Doesn't ring a bell," Salem replied offhandedly, "are you getting to your point?"  
      
Regulus nodded, quickly rattling off an order for water no ice when the waitress came by, and turned back to Salem, answering, "Dane isn't my boyfriend or lover or whatever else.  We're classmates.  We met in his business marketing class.  I'm a business major with a specialization in business operations."  
      
Salem nodded thoughtfully, shooting a quick glance at an extremely uncomfortable Dane, "So, basically, you specialize in telling people how to do their jobs?"  Regulus let out a burst of laughter and shrugged.  Salem sighed and looked over at Dane.  "Anything you'd like to tell me?"  
      
"I think you need a COO."  
      
"That's glaringly obvious."  
      
"It's not personal."  
      
"It never is."  
      
His phone beeped again, and Salem grimaced, staring at his phone haltingly before just saying fuck it and reach across the table for it.  Harley and Dane shared an amused look while Regulus didn't visibly react, sipping his water as the waitress delivered it and leveling his gaze on Salem.  _Holy fuck, it's like being in a room with a much more intense version of Bailey._  
  
 **Bailey** : i wouldnt want u to die frm a heart attack  
  
 **Bailey** : do u think moose tracks has less than 500 calories?  
  
 **Salem** : Depends...how big is your bowl?  
      
Dane leered at him, and Salem snapped his phone off and narrowed his eyes on Dane who shrugged half-heartedly while Harley questioned, "New girlfriend?"  
      
Salem snorted, "Hardly."  
      
Laughing, Dane re-questioned, "New boyfriend?"  
      
Once again, Harley choked, and Salem's eyes scanned over her before turning back to look at Dane, " _Just_ a friend."  
      
Now even Regulus scoffed doubtfully, shaking his head and sharing a disbelieving glance with Dane.  Salem balked at the pair of them while Harley finally recovered enough from shock to ask, "You're gay?"  
      
Combing his fingers through his bangs before flipping them out of his eyes, Salem speared her with his gaze, "That a problem for you, Harleen?"  
      
The table fell awkwardly silent as three pairs of eyes fell on a suddenly sheepish Harley, a silence that went unbroken until Salem's cell phone beeped again.  Regulus cleared his throat, cutting his eyes to Salem, while Dane, Salem could see in the periphery of his vision, started to smirk.  Salem's gaze didn't falter from Harley.  As much as he wanted to talk to Bailey, he could wait until he'd effectively intimidated the Punjabi girl enough.  
      
Harley cleared her throat awkwardly, "In accordance with my fiance's religious background, it probably should be."  _Lovely_ , Salem crooked an eyebrow and pursed his lips together in clear disapproval.  Regulus sipped his water and watched the two of them carefully while Dane sunk down in his seat looking like he wished he could be anywhere else.  "But since you're the reincarnation of Steve Jobs and like the real life Tong Stark minus Jarvis—"  
      
"He's working on that," Dane confided to Regulus who snorted.  
      
"—and are going to make me a billionaire by the time I'm thirty, I can let it go."  
      
Salem rolled his eyes, "Someone's optimistic."  
      
She shrugged, "I have faith in you.  If I didn't I wouldn't have agreed to help."  
      
"When did I ever agree to let you be CFO?"  
      
"When you admitted your knowledge of finance is entirely theoretical, and that you don't have the time or patience for accounting since you'd rather play with your toys,"  
      
"My 'toys' as you so tritely dubbed them are what's going to make us so much money…if we succeed."  
      
Harley raised her eyebrows, "So it's 'we' now is it?"  
      
Salem shrugged, tension easing as he leaned back in his seat and flipped on his cell phone.  
  
 **Bailey** : u would know more intimately than me  
  
 **Salem** : That was terrible. I said 'bowl' not 'cock'.  
  
 **Bailey** : & who said im using 1?  
  
 **Salem** : I'm going with yes. Eating a whole half gal of moose tracks is over 500cal. Rough day?  
      
He looked up to find four pairs of eyes on him, and Salem paused before smiling hesitantly at the waitress.  He cleared his throat, "Did everyone else order already?"  Three heads nodded, and the waitress smiled kindly at him.  Salem could feel his cheeks heating up, but he bit his bottom lip, fighting his embarrassment, and nodded, "Sorry.  I'm just gonna have the fish and chips."  The waitress nodded and bit her bottom lip as she tossed him a sultry smile.  
  
Salem: I think women need gaydars. Not gay men.  
      
When he looked back up to find everyone's expression borderline ridiculously amused, Salem glared at everyone, "What the hell is wrong with everybody?"  
      
"' _Just_ a friend,'" Dane repeated to Salem with a bemused expression on his face.  
      
Regulus snickered while Salem threw his hands up in annoyance, "Why are we talking about my not-a-love life when we're supposed to be talking business?"  
      
The phone pinged.  
  
 **Bailey** : Lol poor girl. U shut her down easy or just get awkward?  
  
 **Salem** : Neither she's my waitress. I just let it ride so I'll get better service.  Is that wrong?  
  
 **Bailey** : lmao maybe  
  
 **Bailey** : U been on on any news sites 2day?  
      
He hadn't.  Clearly, Salem would have to check that out.  
      
Regulus shook his head and answered before anyone else, "Because you keep interrupting our meeting to answer text messages from your 'just a friend'.  So, are you planning to put down the mobile to actually have our business meeting or are you gonna keep at it with your 'just a friend'?"  
      
"Can we stop saying that like it's in quotations?"  Salem replied pointedly, "I'm a very attentive friend."  
      
Now all three of them laughed, shaking their heads and throwing their hands up––both metaphorically and literally––to his comment.  _That_ was just rude.  
      
Okay, so maybe they had a point.  Salem tended not to pay that close of attention to his friends, particularly over the phone.  He was diligent when it came to answering emails, but unless he was expecting a phone call, he didn't answer many of them (excepting ones from his mom and father).  And text messages?  Forget about it.  He scanned them and if he wasn't interested or didn't deem them worth his time, Salem stuck his phone right back in his pocket and pretended no message had ever been sent (excepting Michi, of course, because texts were one of the only ways to reasonably get in touch with his wayward, wanderlust half-brother).  
      
Deciding if his would-be business partners were going to spend their entire planning lunch ribbing him, there would be nothing wrong with him scanning news in the sports section for whatever had reduced Bailey to downing a half gallon of Moose Tracks ice cream when his usual happy times desert probably consisted of mini vegan cupcakes or oatcakes.  Salem ate a half gallon of Moose Tracks once every three days for _fun_ , but Bailey was anti-fun, anti-tasty, anti-hedonism.  
      
Salem might be actual, honest-to-God hedonist.  
      
"Have you slept with him?"  Dane asked.  
      
Pausing in his typing, Salem frowned before looking back down at his phone, "Maybe."  
      
"Are you shagging him right _now_?"  Dane pressed.  
      
"No," Salem mumbled, scowling.  
      
Regulus snickered while Harley shifted, uncomfortable with the whole conversation.  _Join the club._   "Do you want to shag him?"  
      
Sighing and recognizing that the two men had no intention of dropping the situation, Salem looked up at them, dropping his cell phone in his lap and grimacing as he replied honestly, "There's a whole cult of straight adult males who probably wouldn't mind being nailed by him.  If you saw him, you'd understand."  
      
"I don't think wanting to bone someone is the basis of a solidly platonic friendship," Regulus pointed out.  
      
"Are we talking about Taylor?  Because that tosser has been chasing you since the start of semester," Dane added.  
      
"It's not Taylor.  And he doesn't date.  It's a thing."  
      
"You've got feelings for a closet case," Dane said sympathetically.  
      
"Is this friends thing really gonna work?"  Regulus pressed.  
      
"Wow, okay, can we talk about _anything_ else please?  
      
Harley, obviously grateful for the reprieve, jumped right on Salem's opening, asking, "The prototype.  When can we see it?"  
      
"Um…the contracts.  When can we sign them?"  Dane inquired.  
      
"Should I even be here?"  
      
Salem looked over at Regulus feeling back on stable footing, "Yeah, Regulus, you can stay."  With a sigh and still absently flipping through his news feed, Salem moved his gaze to focus on Harley.  "I have several prototypes actually, which I'll need to show everyone as soon as I put them through one more stage of testing each, maybe two, because we need to hammer out marketing and financials and get together our personal statements and all of that by January."  
      
"January?"  Regulus balked.  
      
Pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes on the phone screen, Salem nodded decisively, "January nineteenth."  
      
Harley paused for a moment before pursing her lips together and nodding, choosing wisely not to comment on their tight time frame, "Why so many prototypes?"  
      
Salem shrugged, "It's a competitive industry.  If we're going to jump into the deep end of the pool and compete with well-established, long-standing technology corporations we're going to need a sizable product base to keep people interested.  Give variety consistent with quality.  We have to outcompete the name of Apple and the ingenuity of Samsung and the functionality of Android.  So I designed two cells, a tablet, a laptop, a reader, because some people just don't want something big with a short battery life and lots of buttons that they're never gonna use, and an mp3 player for, you know, running and shit."  Salem nodded, eyes on his cell phone and allowing the weighted silence to descend over the table.  
      
His future CFO recovered first, "I'm praying you kept the list of materials and prices used to create each device."  
      
Smiling impishly, Salem looked up and met Harley's eyes, "Sorta?"  
      
"God you're so much work," Harley groaned, dropping her head into her hands.  Salem shrugged.  
      
Dane nodded, "We'll need to see them, make a list of capabilities and how it compares to its competitors."  
      
"You're gonna love me," Salem replied coyly.  
      
"Contracts?"  Regulus pressed.  
      
"Right.  About that.  We can sit down with a lawyer in January if everything goes well.  I got us a meet with an investment firm, which is why everything needs to be completed by January nineteenth, because our meet with BlueCrest is at three o'clock in two months.  But I want to see how much of the pie the investors are going to try to eat before we get into everything else as far as pay and all that fun stuff."  
      
"Obviously you're going to be claiming at least 51% of your business," Regulus pointed out as their waitress brought their food to the table, making eyes at Salem as she dropped everything on the table.  He pressed his lips together, eyes shifting up to stare at the ceiling through narrowed eyes, entirely uncomfortable, and staying that way until she'd disappeared.  
      
Then he said: "Like I'm going to entrust my life's work to a bunch to a bunch of hedge fund managers."  Harley raised her eyebrows while Regulus snorted and Dane snickered, snagging a fry off of Salem's plate, ignoring the piercing look Salem shot him.  "Now, we're supposed to be talking logistics.  Oh fuck."  
      
And there it was, the headline about Bailey that had no doubt put him in such a maudlin mood: **Arsenal's Arthur Bailey being babied by official?**  
  
 _That would screw with anyone's mood._  
  
 **Salem** : Eat your Moose Tracks. You deserve it.  
  
 **Bailey** : :) thnx konstantin  
      
 _Ass_.


	8. "Vagabond" by Misterwives

**Arsenal's Arthur Bailey being babied by official?**  
Not since the likes of hockey's Pittsburgh Penguin Sidney Crosby's early years of on-ice whining has the world of pro-athletes seen complaining and indulgence of a star player like the scene displayed by eighteen year old Arsenal forward, Arthur Bailey (21), on Saturday's game against Liverpool.  During a particularly fast-paced play, the young forward got tangled up with Liverpool sweeper, Michael Lynchen (73), in a particularly dangerous, diving attempt to put the ball on net despite the off-side call made only seconds earlier.  Lynchen limped away with a sprained ankle while Bailey, after a heated two minute temper tantrum with the referee, walked away scot-free when he should have at least seen a yellow card.  This is what happens when we have young, overpaid star players that clubs spoon feed until they become entitled, getting away with things most players get fined for just based on hype alone.  Maybe football fans should stop worshipping him as the FIFA Jesus and recognize him for what he is: overpaid, overrated, spoiled, entitled natural talent who receives more hype than he's worth.  
  
 **Rafael Correa (@Rafa86)**  
Sometimes the media just needs someone to skewer. Nice picking on an innocent kid  
  
 **Alicia T (@ArsenalAlicia)**  
Here we go with the rags hating on @ArthurBailey cuz of his unbelievable talent  
  
 **Jolly Jamie (@JamieMoss7)**  
@ArsenalAlicia not much to hate on, kid's skilled and an angel  
  
 **Phillip B (@Football_Phil)**  
Delusional Arsenal fans trying to pretend @ArthurBailey is God #HesATool #SpoiledBaby #GetOverYourself  
  
 **Yasmin & Derek (@CardiffCharmer)**  
Not even an Arsenal fan and I think its a joke. This is what happens when the paps can't dig up dirt #FuckingWankers   
  
To: kingarthurb@gmail.com.uk  
From: bonfils.caroline@arsenalfc.org.uk  
Subject: Our Meeting  
Arthur,  
We need to hold a meeting to discuss the PR fallout of what happened during the Liverpool game Saturday November 12th, especially as your coach claims it's affecting your play.  Come to my office directly after practice Friday November 18th.  
Caroline Bonfils  
Director of Public Relations, Arsenal FC

* * *

 

"You're not in trouble.  You can stop looking so chastised."  Caroline said by way of greeting as she brushed passed Bailey to sit behind her desk.  
      
 _It's like being back in the headmaster's office…or, I imagine so, since I've never been._  
      
Caroline scared the living shit out of Bailey.  It might have been the £700 Christian Louboutins that seemed glued to her feet and were sharp enough to kill a man or maybe the pencil skirt, silk shirt combo that reminded Bailey of his British grandmother who still honored high tea and had fine China worth more than Bailey's house in Hampstead Suburbs.  Every time Bailey even breathed the same air as Caroline's corporate office, he felt like a ten year old child again, the first and last time he'd ever gotten into trouble and the day his father had scowled at him in disappointment before shipping him off to boarding school.  
      
Good times.  
      
"Look, Bailey, your coach has been calling me nonstop since we last talked on Sunday after that article was released.  You don't have play worse just because some reporter wants to make an example out of young, talented athletes by making you seem like the antichrist."  Caroline promised.  Bailey remained silent, shifting in his seat and keeping his face carefully blank as he watched her.  Caroline's hazel eyes searched Bailey's gaze for something, and after a moment, the French woman sighed and ran a hand through her hair tiredly.  "Honestly, Bailey, I specialize in making problems like this disappear or, at least, minimizing them.  As far as I'm concerned, this is some asshole sports journalist trying to make a name for himself by attacking you.  It's not a big deal.  It's not like you got caught shagging under aged girls or someone's wife or a man."  Bailey swallowed and tensed as minutely as possible, his mind screaming not to draw attention to himself as Caroline smiled kindly at him, " _This_ is hardly a big deal."  
      
Bailey nodded stiffly, "I'll remember that."  
      
" _Excellente_ , because your coach is worried you're not in the right head space to play Sunday."  
      
"I'm fine."  Bailey promised shortly, tone ice and steel, a clear warning not to press.  
      
Caroline's eyes shot up from the screen of her desktop to narrow on Bailey, "Convincing.  I'm just trying to do my job and maintain your reputation's integrity,"  
      
Bailey raised his eyebrows but kept his mouth shut.  He knew how this worked.  Caroline worked for Arsenal.  Arsenal signed her paychecks.  Caroline's job was maintaining Arsenal Football Club's reputation.  He'd seen it before when athletes started too much trouble and dragged their respective club's name through the mud; that was when PR advised for them to be cut loose and just like that they were out.  Bailey had been raised by a diplomat and knew when it was best to keep those kinds of comments to himself no matter how true or much of a point they made.  
      
She raised her eyebrows, waiting patiently for Bailey's response while he shook his head in wordless defeat, grudgingly bowing to what she wanted.  Seemingly satisfied, Caroline relaxed back into her seat, eyes still trained on Bailey, "I trust we won't have this problem again, though?"  
      
"Of course not," Bailey remarked tonelessly.  
      
"Good.  See that we don't, Mr. Bailey," Caroline warned him while Bailey rose to his feet, rolling his eyes as he turned towards the door.  "One last thing, Bailey," he stopped and turned to face her with his expression carefully bland, "try to keep your personal problems out of the media.  Do you know how many stories about your personal life I've killed in the last few weeks?  You're an Olympic gold medalist and the UK's current golden boy caught in public arguing with your girlfriend at restaurants and sneaking around during road trips."  
      
He froze and cursed silently, trying to keep back the growing feeling of panic welling in him.  What did she know?  What did the _paps_ know?  What kind of phone call should he be expecting from his parents about his disappointing behavior?  Was he looking at the end of his career?  
      
Caroline rose from behind her desk, brushing her wood brown hair off of her shoulder as she crossed the room to stand in front of him.  The height of her stilettos bridged the gap and made her stand equal with Bailey, her expression austere.  "I don't know what you've been doing behind your girlfriend's back or right in front of her face.  I don't care either.  God knows you're not the first athlete and you won't be the last.  But let me tell you this, I don't mind cleaning up your professional reputation but I have no interest in standing toe to toe with rabid sports journalists because of your personal life."  
      
Bailey nodded, trying to keep his tone and face neutral as he demanded, "Can I go now?"  
      
"Feel free," Caroline remarked, and Bailey yanked open the door while Caroline called out from behind him, "and feel free to stay out of trouble."

* * *

 

"Oi!"  
      
Bailey paused as he climbed out of his Volvo, frowning and glancing over towards his neighbor's house to see the old man frowning angrily at him.  _Some days I really hate my life.  Of course, today I would get accosted by the senile old man._   Bailey forced a smile, closing the door of his car with unnecessary force and grabbing his duffel bag out of the trunk.  "Hello Mr. Tarris."  
      
"Arthur," he said sourly.  
      
 _What the hell did I do now?_  
      
First Caroline's subtle 'get your shit together' that clearly spelled out that he was going to have to either become 007 or put a temporary halt on his weekend one night stands.  And now his nosy neighbor who had a tendency to very vocally announce his distress with Bailey's lifestyle.  Like he threw wild parties every other day and invited his friends over for movie nights.  The only people who ever stepped foot into his house was Kanani, his family when they sullied themselves enough to come up to Hampstead, and occasionally Benedikt and his family.  
      
Bailey bit back the automatic urge to correct him on the name, smiling instead, "How can I help you?"  
      
"You can keep your dog from shitting on my lawn is what you can do."  
      
 _That_ was weird.  Bailey opened his mouth to comment before closing it to frown.  _When the hell did I get a canine?_ He _hated_ dogs ever since he'd spent his first summer on his grandmother's estate out in the middle of nowhere like he'd fallen into _Wuthering Heights_.  That whole 'dogs can smell fear' thing, oh yeah, he believed it.  His eight year old self had stared in terror at his grandfather's Irish wolfhound for maybe thirty seconds before it leapt on him.  Malevolent attack or not, Bailey kept a wide berth for canines.  
      
"I don't have a dog," Bailey spoke haltingly.  
      
"Well then your girlfriend does, some yippy Cocker Spaniel that dug up my rose bushes, crapped in my yard, and barks all hours of the day…" he paused and then shrugged.  "Except when you're home."  
      
 _Please, dear God, tell me that she didn't._  
      
"Alright, sorry," Bailey forced out haltingly, irritated, "I'll take care of it."  Mr. Tarris nodded his head, waving a dismissive hand like he figured that Bailey really wouldn't be much help.  
      
Although, God help Kanani if he found out she was trying to hide a dog in his house.  
      
Running a hand through his hair, Bailey shoved inside, dropping the bag right next to the door and stripping as he walked through the house, ending in his bedroom and pulling on a pair of sweatpants and pushing his hair back with a headband.  He dropped down to sit on the edge of his bed for a minute, ignoring his too pristine, almost coldly formal bedroom.  That was the whole house though: cold, contemporary, formal.  
      
Sighing, Bailey sighed and got to his feet, wandering down the stairs through the house in knee-high mismatched socks, bare-chested, and almost sighing into the too quiet empty house.  It was cavernous and stark and silent, which Bailey usually liked but sometimes couldn't stand.  On days like today when he realized how absolutely alone he actually was.  
      
Bailey grabbed an afghan off the back of the couch and wrapped it around himself as he padded from the living room, down the hallway, and towards the kitchen, the walls lined with expensive nonsensical artwork.  The whole thing seemed pretentious and petty and just like his family house growing up, which was just what you'd expect when you higher a decorator to build a home without ever making an effort to warm it yourself.  
      
Shaking his head, he made his way into the kitchen, muffled footsteps echoing over the chilly tiles.  A hot pink sticky note had been stuck onto the front of the refrigerator, and Bailey yanked it off and raised his eyebrows as he frowned down at it.  
      
 _Photoshoot for Stella McCartney in Rome. 1wk. ~Nani_  
      
Nodding, Bailey yanked open his fridge and frowned at its contents, though he _had_ admittedly put all of it in there in an effort to follow his prescribed diet to a 'T'.  Frankly, Bailey thought he was doing an excellent job, and so did his fridge judging by its total lack of anything remotely interesting: water, Powerade, apples, almond peanut butter, coconut milk, a shit ton of fruit, a shit ton of vegetables, and salmon.  The freezer?  Yeah, that wasn't much better, a bunch of ice cubes, fruit cubes, and something so deeply encased in freezer burn that Bailey couldn't even read the label.  Yeah, no.  
      
He pulled out his phone and dialed Kanani's number, knowing she wouldn't answer but needing to put in the call anyway.  As the phone rang, he stare into the depths of the pantry and grew more and more frustrated with the bags of all natural protein shake mix, oatcakes, cans of soup, gluten-free crackers.  And _there_ , low and behold, stuck in the very back corner of the pantry, half hidden behind tasteless, unsalted popcorn, was a plastic container with one lone chocolate cupcake.  
      
 _God bless Kanani's sweet tooth sometimes._  
      
Bailey fished it out one-handed as Kanani's phone clicked to voicemail.  "Kanani Kapuana.  I want to know why my neighbor just yelled at me about my nonexistent dog shitting in his yard and digging up his prized double knockout roses.  If you get back here, and I find out that you have a dog hidden away somewhere that you let roam around my house, I'm going to rip your head off, you know that?  I don't like dogs, love.  You know that I don't like dogs so it better be a heinous lie, Kanani Kapuana."  The phone cut out, letting me know I'd gone over my time allotment.  
  
Rolling his eyes, Bailey tossed his mobile on the counter and leaned against it, flipping on his tea kettle as he went to take his first bite of the cupcake.  His phone chimed, and Bailey sighed, shifting his eyes from the guilty pleasure pastry to the lit screen of his cell phone.  
  
 **Salem** : I'm thinking that this isn't how this is supposed to look.  
      
Quirking an eyebrow, Bailey clicked on the photo and gaped at the misshapen black thing on the screen.  
      
 _What the hell is that?_  
  
 **Bailey** : Depends if its supposed 2 look like mutant coal  
  
 **Salem** : It's supposed to be a cupcake :(  
      
Bailey snorted and bit his own, store bought cupcake, shaking his head.  That was the saddest looking home-cooked _anything_ he'd ever seen, let alone a cupcake.  
  
 **Bailey** : no its supposed to be charcoal. ur not planning on feeding that 2 ppl rite?  
  
 **Salem** : Yes?  
  
 **Bailey** : have u evr baked b4?   
  
**Salem** : ...I promised my mommy.  
      
Laughing, Bailey hurried up the stair and grabbed his cleaned up and much better behaved laptop, bringing it downstairs and shooting Salem a quick text and immediately calling him on Skype.  He rested the laptop on the kitchen counter top and made his tea quickly, peppermint, black, before hopping up to sit on it, swinging his legs off the side like he was a little kid.  
      
Salem's face appeared on screen and Bailey's heart stuttered, a smile spreading across his face automatically.  He looked the same as usual except with a slight lack of sleep and a harassed look on his face, his long hair tied up in a sloppy bun and his bangs sideswiped in a futile attempt to keep it out of his eyes.  In the background, Bailey could hear the television in the background, probably playing some inane reality show, and the smoke from his first cooking attempt was evident.  
      
"I had some issues."  
      
"I noticed," Bailey scoffed.  "You know, cupcakes aren't supposed to look like…whatever that was."  
      
"Shut up," Salem pointed a finger at the screen before pausing and narrowing his eyes.  He grinned salaciously, "Is that a cupcake?"  
      
Bailey rolled his eyes and took a bite, "Clearly you're a little confused about pastries and their corresponding appearances, but yes, Konstantin, this is an _actual_ cupcake."  
      
"Oh my God, would you shut the fuck up?  You're eating a cupcake.  Has your week been that terrible?"  
      
"Aside from a disappointed phone call about my behavior from the family patriarch, a brusque 'watch yourself' email from my agent, a lecture on discretion from Arsenal's PR department, and an angry comment from my evil neighbor about my nonexistent girlfriend's apparently hidden dog, it's been fantastic."  
      
Salem nodded sagely, "I always knew Caroline was a ball buster."  
      
"Not Sebastian?"  
  
Barking out an appalled laugh, Salem shook his head, "Kid's a fucking pansy.  Well…not a kid.  He'd older than me."  
      
Bailey grinned lazily, sipping his tea and tilting his head at Salem, "So, he's ancient then?  Dinosaur's walked the earth."  
      
"Fuck you!  I'm only borderline twenty-one."  
      
"What does that even mean?"  
      
Salem shrugged, biting the inside of his cheek, "I turn twenty-one December 2nd."  
      
Bailey gaped, "Were you never gonna tell me?"  
      
"Were you going to throw me a party?  Whatever, it's not like it's a big deal."  
      
"Christ," Bailey flinched, frowning at the man on screen, "you sound like me."  
      
"Depressing thought," Salem commented offhandedly, biting back a smile.  "Anyway, I need to focus.  You know how to bake cupcakes?"  
      
Shaking his head at the change of subject, Bailey finished his cupcake and grinned at Salem, watching silently as he started to gather ingredients on the counter, measuring them out carefully.  He raised his eyebrows and made a noise of protest when he saw how much cooking oil he was about to put in.  Salem made a noise of protest and glanced at the screen, "The hell?  Do you want liquified cupcakes?"  
      
Salem whined, "But they _burned_ last time."  
      
"Yeah, I bet.  Did you leave them alone while you got lost in _Dance Moms_?"  Bailey made a disgusted face.  
      
Without pause, Salem flipped him off even as he fought a smile, "No."  Bailey raised his eyebrows, and Salem pouted before reluctantly admitting, "It was a _The Real Housewives of New Jersey_ marathon.  But, I'll have you know, _Dance Moms_ is an excellent show."  
      
Bailey stared at him through narrowed eyes for a moment before promptly declaring, "If I want my brain to melt."  
      
"Whatever, what do _you_ know about baking?"  
      
"I can bake," Bailey replied defensively.  And he _could_.  "I went to boarding school.  Put in a fourth a cup of vegetable oil genius otherwise you can look at oily cupcakes.  What the hell are these for anyway?"  
      
Salem rolled his eyes Bailey and stuck his pierced tongue at him before following Bailey's directions.  "What they didn't have cafeterias at boarding school?  They have them at MIT, which is probably why I burn water."  
      
"Yes, Konstantin, they have cafeterias at boarding school, but sweets weren't exactly in high supply so I had to figure shit out.  Also, who wants to eat cafeteria food everyday, three times a day?  And, anyway, good for me, because clearly MIT's babying of their student populace hasn't served you well."  
      
"Hey!  I have a short attention span!"  Salem retorted before commenting, "And my name's not Konstantin, you know.  That's my middle name."  
      
"Your first name is?"  
      
"None ya," he said smartly.  "But...it's Japanese.  Do I preheat this to 425°?"  
      
"Minus a hundred."  Salem pursed his lips but nodded and complied.  Bailey frowned, "Where did the name Salem come from?"  
      
Smirking, Salem glanced at Bailey with amusement and what looked like dread lurking in the back of his jade eyes.  "Maybe some day I'll tell you superstar."  
      
Bailey would hold him to that, changing the topic to press something he'd hopefully be more open about, "Occasion of baking cupcakes for mummy?"  
      
"Thanksgiving," Salem beamed, "it's an American thing."  
      
He rolled his eyes, "I know what it is."  
      
"My mom's coming to visit for it, and I wanted to bake her something special.  We used to have cupcakes from Publix every Thanksgiving with little turkeys on them.  Obviously, I can't grab _those_ delights from Tesco, so I'm making do."  
      
"Terribly," Bailey couldn't help but reply.  
  
"It's okay," Salem replied cheerfully, "you're a secret chef."  
      
Bailey snorted, watching Salem work and making comments every now and then, letting the grainy sound of the laptop speakers fill his dead silent house.  It wasn't until Salem had finally put his latest batch of cupcakes into the oven (Bailey setting the timer on his phone to keep track) and had started a rant about Bailey's inhuman dislike of music that Bailey said, "I have a game the day after your birthday."  Salem fell silent, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling, expression thoughtful; he swallowed, "You could come."  
      
"Yeah?"  Salem purred, eyes darkening as they looked through the camera into Bailey.  
      
He fought back a shiver, voice husky as he forced out, "Yeah, that's what friends do, right?"  
      
Salem hummed and looked back at the ceiling for several moment before replying, "Yeah."  
      
"Yeah, you'll come?"  Bailey asked, eyes widening and fighting back a grin threatening to spread over his face, excitement coursing through his body.  
      
The older man laughed and smiled at Bailey, "Who knows, I may even like it."  
      
"You will," he couldn't quite hold back his surprised, endeared smile.  
      
With a roll of his eyes that held not real heat or attitude, he responded, "We'll see, Arthur."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Bailey is lonely and Salem is cooking...kind of for his mommy. This is my Wednesday chapter because I don't want to say I forgot about you but I kind of forgot about you in my shell-shocked haze of 'I just submitted my Visa application.' I think I did a part of it wrong too, but whatever! I tried. And I think I may be officially halfway through writing this...of course, you're still fourteen chapters behind what I've written thus far but whatever.


	9. "Rude" by MAGIC!

To: kingarthurb@gmail.com.uk  
From: hawaiiflower761@gmail.com  
Subject: The cocker spaniel thing  
But Bailey, he's so cute! And a stray!  I promise he went to the vet, got his shots, and saw the groomers. I put him in a kennel so you don't have to deal with him when I'm out of town.  I know you're not a dog person but pleeeeeeeeease?  It needs a stable loving home.  
  
 **Rafael Correa (@Rafa86)**  
Game with Chelsea. So ready to see your ugly mug @Bennyboy9  
  
 **Benedikt Roland (@Benneyboy9)**  
@Rafa86 oh God not you! @ArthurBailey @carey_me_home are welcome to visit through XD  
  
 **Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**  
@Bennyboy9 hi :)  
  
 **Text message from Bailey to Nani**  
 **Bailey** : Since when r u stable?  
 **Nani** : Bailey plz!!!!! O,O  
 **Bailey** : No no no dbl no  
 **Nani** : It's just 1 measly puppy  
 **Bailey** : Dont care. It goes or u find a new crashpad. No joke.  
  
To: theghostsofsalem@gmail.com  
Cc: theharleenquinzel@gmail.com.pk; rabslocket96@gmail.com.uk  
From: crawfishdane1017@gmail.com.uk  
Subject: Can I have this?  
Sale––  
I'm in love with you prototype especially the tablet. Can I have this please? I need a new one anyway since my iPad is ancient and friend with like an hour of battery life. But Harley's spent the last week bitching about profit margins and material costs and pricing. Whatever, I love it.  
Dane  
  
 **Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**  
@Mama_Petrovna is coming for Thanksgiving!!!! #HappyTurkeyDay #America  
  
 **Georgia Hanson (@ChangedGeorgia)**  
@Salem_Daiki I wait with bated breath #NoteSarcasm  
  
 **Charles Beck (@CharlieBeck)**  
@Salem_Daiki well I'm excited to see @Mama_Petrovna again :)))))

* * *

 

"Mama Petrovna!" Charlie greeted from the doorway as he entered, his Patrick trailing at his heels behind him looking extremely out of place.  A shy grin slid across his face as Salem's mother flew from the kitchen to wrap the dimpled cherubic actor in her arms.  
      
"Charlie," Natasha Petrovna said warmly, pulling back from the hug to kiss him on the cheek before her eyes fell on Patrick behind him.  A sly smile flitted over her face, "Is _this_ why you won't date my boy?"  
      
Patrick scowled while Charlie laughed easily and shook his head, "We already tried that, Mama.  It didn't work for us."  
      
Eyebrows raising, Patrick turned to frown at Charlie, "You did, did you?"  
      
"You never asked," Chaz replied sagely before his eyes fell on where Salem had been watching this whole exchanged, perched on the arm of Georgia and Bastian's gaudy couch, fiddling with his cell phone prototype.  Charlie beamed at Salem, resting his hands on his hips and raising his eyebrows, "What?  No hello for your best friend?"  
      
"I already said hi to Max," Salem offered, biting his lip before grinning at Charlie who smiled back, dimples out in full force.  He shifted his eyes from the blonde Englishman to the dark-haired Irishman trailing in behind him.  "I see you brought your worse half along with you."  Patrick rolled his eyes at Salem and waved him off before marching into the kitchen with Tasha; Salem slanted Charlie a sideways look while Charlie shrugged and smiled sweetly.  "I totally get why you like him."  
      
"I have a thing for befriending arseholes.  Just look at you," Charlie poked his cheek.  
      
"Fuck off," Salem swatted his hand away before losing his balance and crashing to the floor.  Charlie tried to hold back laughter that devolved into a fit of belly laughs when Salem struggled to his feet, glaring.  "Thank you for that."  
      
"Oh.  My.  God.  I can't even breath.  This is why I love you.  None of my celebrity friends are this much fun."  
      
"Glad we can entertain you," a sarcastic female's voice said, and Salem and Charlie both turned to see Georgia standing in the doorway of the hall in a polka dot dress that looked like she'd plucked it right off of a 1960s housewife.  Salem gaped while Charlie elbowed him, silently screaming: _have some tact, Sale!_   Easier said than done when she was all made up, in a nice pair of demure Chanel heels, her blonde hair curled and twisted up into a high ponytail, and her makeup impeccable.  
      
 _Someone's trying to get on my mother's good side…too bad it's not going to help._  
      
Behind, someone choked, and the pair whipped their heads around to see Patrick in the doorway of the kitchen, arms laden with plates, balking at Georgia.  She shifted awkwardly while Patrick sputtered before outright saying, "You look like the 1960s threw up on you.  You're trying too hard.  She's going to eat you alive with or without your wannabe Martha Stewart housewife look going on."  
      
Georgia glared, and Patrick turned and walked outside to the patio where Salem's mother had taken the liberty of buying a couple folding tables and chairs so that they could eat outside for Thanksgiving, blissfully saving everyone from cleaning off their forgotten dining table.  Charlie pursed his lips and shared a wide-eyed glance with Salem who shrugged.  Neither of them could exactly say they disagreed, and God bless Patrick's surly disposition and ability to say whatever crap everyone else was thinking regardless of the reactions they elicited…or maybe _because_ of it.  
      
"I do not look like the 1960s threw up on me," Georgia hissed at Salem and Charlie in turn.  
      
Luckily, it was Bastian who came up behind her and muttered, "Well…"  
      
"Yeah, you do," Salem nodded while Charlie shot him a dark look.  Salem shrugged, honesty was the best policy as Charlie's best friend/roommate/long-term crush had already very clearly demonstrated.  
      
Groaning, Georgia plopped down on the couch and frowned up at Salem, "She's not going to hate me forever is she?"  
      
Salem hesitated.  Charlie shrugged and regarded her coldly, "I don't know.  Do you think I will?"  He brushed passed her and out to the patio without a second look.  
      
"Salem," he met her eyes and waited, "you don't––"  
      
He saw where _that_ was going, "––want to talk about it?  No, I don't."  
      
"We never did, you know.  _Ever_."  
      
"And I still don't," Salem replied.  "I might never and really you shouldn't push this one."  
      
"I said I was sorry."  
      
"Sorry doesn't fix what you did to me," Salem answered, tone frigid, as he hurried out of the room, shaking his head and trying to steady his fraying nerves.  
      
There were days when he could just forget all the crap that happened right at the end of high school, when he could pretend that everything between him and Georgia was fine and cool and no big deal, but then there were days like today.  Days when he saw Charlie's uncharacteristic (or at least generally better hidden dark side) and his mother's complete antagonism and disregard for the fact that Georgia was even breathing.  It was in those moments that he had to remember, had to relive, had to recognize that what happened three years ago had never gone away.  That he lived with it every day, that anger and sense of betrayal and utter fury that she'd pulled the shit she did.  That Georgia had manipulated him and played with his head and heart because she thought it was her right, no regard for what everything would do to him, and that she hadn't grown out of that _me, me, me_ mentality in the years since.  
      
Leaning back against his bedroom wall, Salem grabbed his actual, working cell phone, flipping through his text messages and smiling when he saw one.  
  
 **Bailey** : yeah she has a secret dog. I just hoped my nghbr was crazy  
      
Bailey.  
      
The two of them being friends was going well despite what his soon-to-be business partners wanted to think about the whole thing as if any of them had any room to talk.  Harley was destined for an arranged marriage after she graduated to some guy from Punjab, though they at least had enough contact and foresight that he'd agreed to move with her should their business plan actually get off the ground.  Dane didn't 'date', he went on a couple of dates with easy girls and slept with them until he got bored.  Then their was Regulus who Salem pictured as Christian Grey without really meaning to, and he was pretty sure the man was polyamorous but Regulus hadn't offered so Salem hadn't asked.  
      
Everything about Bailey screamed that he was lonely, and it hardly surprised Salem considering everything.  He was secretive to the point of being almost borderline paranoid even with his emotions, and Salem harbored no illusions, the only reason Bailey was so open with his feelings with Salem was because their three-day sex marathon had thrown all his rules right out the window.  What the hell was the point of hiding shit that Salem had already seen?  Bailey, though, probably needed to see a therapist, he was all angst, repression, and solitude like some kind of hermit!Spock.  
      
One day that boy was going to snap and then what?  
      
After all, one bad article about him in the press and he'd responded not by voicing his frustration but by downing a half gallon of Moose Tracks ice cream.  He didn't trust, didn't confide, and didn't really seem to have anyone he could just be open with like he had to seem perfect for all of them so he'd rather just be alone.  It didn't sit well with Salem, but he kept his mouth shut.  None of it was his business anyway as much as he wished he could help.  The best way he could that was just talk to Bailey without any pretense and without taking any of his bullshit brush offs.  
  
 **Salem** : Nice. Animal hater.  
  
 **Salem** : I'm afraid World War III is about to start up in this apartment O.O  
  
 **Bailey** : always knew the americans would start it  
  
 **Bailey** : I luv animals just not dogs. vivid, terrifying childhood memories \O/  
  
 **Salem** : Shut up. America is awesome...our political systems though might need some help.  
  
 **Salem** : What kind of memories?  
  
 **Salem** : Did she get Cujo?  
  
 **Bailey** : A cocker spaniel. And I was attacked. Let us nevr speak of it again.  
  
 **Bailey** : y ww3?  
  
 **Salem** : A cocker spaniel?  The terror! And what were you attacked with love?  
  
 **Bailey** : Love was terrifying all teeth and claws and tiny version of me  
  
 **Salem** : My mom and bff are on a warpath. And he brought his crush #SexualTension  
  
 **Bailey** : Lol tell them 2 cut the suspense and shag  
  
 **Salem** : I think they might have, which might be the problem.  
  
 **Bailey** : …  
  
 **Salem** : Yep, cue awkward silence crickets.  
  
 **Bailey** : Can it b an owl?  
  
 **Salem** : Hedwig!  
  
 **Bailey** : Voldemort killed him.  
  
 **Bailey** : Whats ur mum freaking about?  
  
 **Salem** : She hates one of my roommates with a passion.  
  
 **Bailey** : The bitchy one u whine abt all the time?  
  
 **Salem** : I do not!  
  
 **Bailey** : U do. But am i rite? I bet i am :3  
  
 **Salem** : Why don't you go and fuck yourself?  
  
 **Bailey** : Thats wut ur for, rmmbr?  
  
 **Salem** : Your grammar sucks you know that?      
      
A loud bang caught his attention, and Salem looked up at the figure standing in his doorway, arms crossed over her chest and eyebrows raised.  
      
Natasha Petrovna didn't look a day over forty for the primary reason that she actually _wasn't_ a day over thirty-seven.  She'd been unfortunate enough to hook-up with a Japanese exchange student when she'd been living in San Francisco and had popped out a kid nine months later much to both of their chagrin.  They'd been young and more in lust than anything else so his father had gone back to Japan, and Natasha had been kicked out of her ultra-conservative off-the-boat Russian parent's house.  She was an actual superwoman, though who'd spent the first one and a half-ish year of his life living in a home for pregnant runaways, working under the table a bar that let her bring her kid to work, and going to school in the day time.  At eighteen, she'd gone home with a degree and him, making an agreement with her parents that she'd pay rent and childcare wages if they'd watch him when she trained to become a flight attendant.  
      
Now, at thirty-seven with a mass of russet curls, Salem's own jade green eyes, and an hourglass figure that twenty year olds envied, Natasha had switched from flying in the continental US to international flights so she could travel freely without the restraint of a kid and visited him whenever the pair of them felt up to it.  His first year at college, she'd grabbed layovers in Paris, Germany, Belgium, even Spain to explore the cities with him.  Salem would never deny that his mother was superwoman, and he loved her absolutely more than anything.  
      
"What are you doing in here, _sinulya_ ?  Working on your projects?"  Tasha asked padding in her Orthaheel sandals over to sit on the edge of his bed and smile at him.  
      
Tasha's longtime boyfriend, Damien, had been the one who'd gotten Salem into his tinkering.  Damien was a computer programmer for Google and a damn good one at that.  Oftentimes, Salem bounced ideas off of him; they'd built an mp3 player together for Tasha's birthday one year and ever since Salem had been hooked on building his own tech.  Even though his mother knew next to nothing about anything that had software or a server, Salem appreciated that she took an interest.  
      
"Nah," Salem answered shyly, "just texting."  
      
"Just texting?"  Tasha snorted, "'Just texting' who?  All your friends are outside if I recalled correctly."  
      
"Um…yeah. I mean––"  
      
His phone pinged, and his mother swiped it up, frowning down at the screen, "Bailey, huh?  Who's Bailey?"  
      
"Oh my God, Mama," Salem cried, mortified, swiping the cell phone from his mother and glaring at her.  "You weren't even this invasive when I was underage and _living under your roof._ "  
      
Tasha shrugged, "I knew you weren't sleeping around then."  
      
 _She has a point._   Salem face-palmed, "Kill me."  
  
 **Bailey** : My txtng skilz r gr8  
  
 **Salem** : It's like an alien language. My mom's invading my privacy.  
      
Rolling her eyes, Tasha snagged back the phone, rattling off a quick text message while Salem made a sound of disapproval.  She swatted him, sending it like she hadn't heard a thing he'd said.  
  
 **Salem** : Hello Bailey.  
  
 **Bailey** : Hello Mrs. Petrov.  
      
"He's so formal," Tasha commented while Salem made a grab back for his phone.  Tasha held it out of reach, utterly ignoring her son's struggle.  
  
 **Salem** : Salem has to go have lunch/dinner now. And I will be confiscating his phone.  
  
 **Bailey** : Lol ok. Tell him 2 txt me l8r i guess  
      
Nodding, Tasha stood and tucked the cell into her back pocket after she'd assured that Salem had read it.  
      
"He seems nice."  
      
Salem held up a hand, "Don't, Mama.  He's…we're not…we're not.  It's a thing."  
      
"Oh to be young and beyond weird."  
      
He scowled at his mother while she patted his cheek gently before abruptly pinching his cheek.  Salem yelped and danced away from her while Tasha laughed delightedly, "Don't do that to your face.  It might freeze that way."  Salem crossed his eyes but groaned and got to his feet, letting her lead him down the hallway, "How's it been going for you here?"  
      
"London's great," Salem offered vaguely.  
      
Too bad his mother had been built in with a bullshit meter too; Tasha scoffed and stopped, spinning him around to look her square in the eyes, gaze serious, jade eyes on jade eyes, "I know how _London_ is.  That isn't what I asked and you know it."  
      
He sighed, debating for a moment how truthful to be with the woman who'd given birth to him.  Between mother and son, there were just some things that were understood you don't talk about: sex life, male-specific related non-life threatening issues, illegal activities.  Salem had never explicitly _told_ his mother about his foray into the world of hacking, though Damien probably both knew and had told in the vaguest of terms.  He'd never told her that the first thing he'd done when he'd gone to college had been getting a boyfriend and having sex for the first time (all within mere week of arriving to MIT's Boston campus).  Yes, Salem had told her that he was gay after kissing both a girl and a guy at birthday party he'd went to in eighth grade but that had been their first and last discussion about it with the single exception of a sex talk that had gone something like: "Don't have sex and get a girl pregnant." "Mom, I'm gay, remember?" "Right, don't have sex so I feel better and don't have to have a heart attack at your yearly physical every year, deal?" "Deal."  
      
Still, the look Tasha tossed him that said he'd better not edit, left him spilling his guts like he'd been water boarded repeatedly for the last two _days_.  His mother was some kind of interrogator.  
      
"I love Max but I hate living here with three other people and their messes who listen to loud pop music and have a taste that surpasses tacky into the deepest trenches of _The Birdcage_ meets _Myrtle Manor_ meets set of Jersey porn studio.  I need my own space, or, at least, a roommate that doesn't make me want to rip my hair out.  I want a workspace so that I can tinker in peace, and I need to stop tinkering and be happy because I have a meeting with an investment group in January so everything needs to be completed by then.  I'm terrified that they're going to hate my ideas and my inventions and my proposal, and then I'm going to have to reevaluate what I'm going to do with my life or spend the next sixty years of my life as another cog in a corporate wheel for some mass technological firm in Silicon Valley instead of working on what _I_ want to be working on.  I'm bored with college and would rather spend all my time working on my projects but I can't because I need to have a fall back option.  I've been working for the past several months as a hacker-for-hire, breaking through firewalls and security of businesses with their permission to find the holes in their system and fix them, but I'm afraid that the FBI is going to come any day and haul me away to the dungeons of Quantico because of it.  And I really really want Bailey and it's screwing with my head kind of like a lot.  And I saw _Jobs_ and am afraid that I'm going to become Steve Jobs, consumed with work but really alone and unhappy and I really don't want to be that."  
      
Tasha stared at him while Salem deflated, a small smile slipping out as he finished with a feeling of relief.  _Damn it felt good to get that out._   Nodding her head, Tasha kissed Salem on the head before saying, "You'll figure it out.  Now, let's go before Charlie stabs Georgie with a steak knife and Patrick covers up the crime to keep him out of prison."  
      
"Her name's Georgia," Salem laughed.  
      
"Is it?  I had no idea and still don't care.  Chop, chop child of mine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Orthaheels are real (I have a pair). And Charlie and Salem's mom both hate Georgia. Muahaha, someday I'll tell you why. And this is your Friday update because I'm here, and I have every intention to write all day on Friday :) Also that glorious sex talk, that was basically how mine went with my mother...outside of an IHOP after watching a marathon of Maury. Awkward. We didn't have a gay talk. I said 'I'm pansexual' and she said 'why are you telling me this?' and I said 'I tell you everything' and she said 'I don't care as long as you don't bring home a guy with saggy pants or come back with a sex change.' My mom...smh


	10. "Can You Do This?" by Aloe Blacc

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**  
I'm going to my first soccer game in 7days #KindOfExcited  
  
 **Max Priest (@FatherMax)**  
@Salem_Daiki it's still called football. Welcome to England :P  
  
 **Dane Crawford (@D_Crawfish)**  
@Salem_Daiki you lucky bitch  >.< what game?  
  
 **Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**  
@FatherMax f u bro :) @D_Crawfish Arsenal v Manchester City  
  
 **Harleen Bhattal (@HarleyBhat)**  
@Salem_Daiki you and what money? #YouLuckySwine  
  
 **Text message from Kanani to Bailey**  
 **Kanani** : Bailey plz plz plz dont do this 2 me  
 **Bailey** : Nani luv u know how i feel abt dogs  
 **Kanani** : how long have we been friends?  
 **Bailey** : 2 long if u srsly think i'll let u keep a dog in my house  
 **Kanani** : But u kno how i feel about Edward  
 **Bailey** : Tell me u didnt name ur dog after a twilight character  
 **Kanani** : ...no  
 **Bailey** : Yes i kno how u feel thats y i said u can move and in the meantime i wouldnt sell the dog  
 **Bailey** : o & i need a favor  
 **Kanani** : -.-  
  
To: theghostsofsalem@gmail.com  
Cc: rabslocket96@gmail.com.uk; crawfishdane1017@gmail.com.uk  
From: theharleenquinzel@gmail.com.pk  
Subject: Getting our numbers in order  
Alright, I ran through production costs and talked to Prof Mulbery to get a handle on a company who could mass produce everything until we get enough for our own facility if we get that big. We have a pretty solid 12% profit margin even if we price everything low to start out with. Go you Salem! Anyway, I put the spreadsheets for the sales projection and profits as an attachment below. Look over them, get back to me, and Dane better get started on the marketing end of things.  
Harley  
  
 **Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**  
Actually really nervous/excited for this game.

* * *

 

The last time Salem had seen grass that green he'd been twelve, which had coincidentally been the last time he'd ever played soccer for his middle school team…or at all actually.  
      
Arsenal's Emirates stadium in Highbury about a million miles outside Salem's basic level of comfort within the London metropolitan area, was like a whole other planet.  A red planet.  He felt considerably out of place as he meandered sheepishly towards will call in his usual beat up Vans, black slouch skinny jeans, and a thick MIT sweatshirt with his hair tied up in a ponytail and a pair of Aviators covering his eyes.  Usually, his verging on emo attire didn't bother him, but he felt ridiculously out of place amongst the blue collar, clean cut London soccer fans converging on the stadium for their seats.  
      
The bored teller raised his own eyebrows at Salem as he handed over a ticket, and Salem rocked back on his heels and mumbled a thank you, narrowing his eyes in a sign of discomfort behind the tinted shades of his glasses.  
      
With a sigh, Salem turned and ducked his head, letting his overgrown bangs fall forward to obscure the view of him as if it was really Harry Potter's invisibility cloak.  He followed the signs to his section and had barely stepped foot into the stadium's fresh air when he heard someone calling his name.  
      
He paused and frowned, looking around before he spotted the slip of a figure down the stairs closest to the field.  The familiar Polynesian woman waved at him, looking just as casual though no less glamorous as when Salem had first seen her at Tip Top Thai on his date with Robert weeks ago.  Carefully, Salem picked his way down the stairs, reaching the same level as her at the same moment she pursed her glossy lips at him and asked, " _You're_ Salem Petrov?"  
      
Salem quirked an eyebrow and pushed his Aviators up, "That a problem, princess?"  
      
"Nope," she blanched, hardly convincing.  She cleared her throat awkwardly, "I'm Kanani Kapuana, Bailey's—"  
      
"Fake girlfriend?" Salem whispered conspiratorially.  Kanani narrowed her eyes on him while Salem smirked and shrugged, "I know."  
      
"He forgot to mention you're a comedian," Kanani sniffed as she lead him into the row towards their seats.  
      
"This from the woman who tried to hide a dog from him."  
      
"Oh my God, it's a Cocker Spaniel not Marmaduke."  
      
"He hates dogs."  
      
Kanani waved a hand airily, "Whatever.  It's not nearly as big a deal as he's making it.  I mean, kicking me out is a little much."  
      
Salem didn't say that since Kanani crashed there and accumulated her crap rent free, it made sense for him to put his foot down about a dog he didn't want and would undoubtedly wind up taking care of.  Just like how Salem had kept his mouth shut about how he probably could use a comfort animal considering he played once a week with an away game roughly every two and had practices nearly every day albeit not for very long, the occasional team lunch, and almost no social outings.  He was just alone a lot, even when Kanani was in town since she was a model through and through right down to the glamour, drinking, and almost excessive partying, an animal or a consistent roommate would be good for him.  
      
Instead of saying all that, though, Salem joked, "You could move into my room when I move out to bigger and better things."  
      
Kanani whipped her head around to gape at him, "Oh my God, yes!  How many are they?  Do they like dogs?  How much is rent?"  
      
Salem blinked at her in shock.  _Let's take a breath from the over-excitement train._ "I was kidding."  
      
"I wasn't."  
      
So he'd noticed.  
      
"I'm a great roommate.  I mean, I don't have a lot of shit, don't need a lot of space, and am almost never home plus I have all this money I never use and subsist on a diet of cheese cubes and Kool-Aid."  
      
"Tell me you're kidding."  
      
"Of course," Kanani waved a hand before pausing and frowning, "mostly.  I mean I eat like a pig so it's kind of all gorge and purge, you know?"  
      
Sighing and squeezing the bridge of his nose, Salem stared down at the unnaturally green field, eyes trailing over the assembled players to look for Bailey.  "I'm going to imagine that you're kidding for my peace of mind."  
      
Kanani giggled and slapped his arm.  Salem yelped and shot her a hassled look while she continued smiling angelically, "Happy Birthday!  Yesterday, right?  I _love_ birthdays.  My grandparents always throw me this big ass shindig and invite the whole family in my hometown, Pahala, it's on Hawaii—that's the island not the state, although it is a part of the state.  Fun."  
      
Salem gaped at her rambling, run-on and nodded, "For sure."  
      
"Why are you moving out?"  
      
"Wow, you are a topic jumper, huh?"  Salem mused.  Kanani sighed in annoyance while batting her eyelashes at him, and he scowled but answer reluctantly, "I just need some space.  I know a guy who'll sublet me his studio in Camden for six months when he moves in with his girlfriend in January."  
      
"You know a lot of people," Kanani frowned.  
      
"Yep."  
      
"In the biblical sense?"  
      
 _Way to pry._  
      
"No."  Salem answered shortly, in no way interested in getting into this with Kanani.  _Where does 'in the biblical sense' come from?  The Bible's pretty anti-getting it on if I remember correctly._ He chewed on that for a minute until a sharp crack went across his head.  Salem yelped again and shot a shock, outraged look to a far too innocent Kanani.  
      
Kanani frowned at him, "Well?"  
      
"Seriously?"  He demanded.  Sighing and rolling her eyes, Kanani nodded her head and waited.  Salem ran his fingers through his bangs and shifted in his seat, resting his chin on his knee and wrapping an arm around the leg he'd folded to his chest.  Looking away from Kanani, Salem's eyes went back to scanning the mass of Arsenal players and decided soccer fields were too damn big.  Everyone looked like a spec in the ocean, just kind of getting lost.  "I'm a serial dater."  
      
"You're kidding," Kanani deadpanned, freezing with her Blk water almost at her mouth.  
      
 _Who the fuck would ever buy black water for any reason?  I don't care that the Manso brothers from_ Housewives of New Jersey _endorsed it.  How about no?_ Really, his comment had saved her from her very, very poor judgement.  Black water?  
      
He eyed her drink distrustfully as he reiterated, "Problem?"  
      
"It's just you and Bailey—"  
      
"Are _friends_ ," he rolled his eyes.  Saying that line over and over and over again was getting old.  
      
"Right but he's—"  
      
"A total but justifiable manslut?"  
      
Grimacing, Kanani shrugged, "Kinda."  
      
"Well, we're friends… _and_ he's temporarily off sleeping around."  
      
"Since _when_?"  Kanani demanded.  
      
Salem frowned at her in confusion.  Honestly, he'd expected her to have known.  He realized that Bailey had some trust issues (okay, enough to make any self-respecting therapist's head spin) but Kanani seemed generally privy to most information that Bailey had.  Apparently, Salem had poorer judgement than he'd thought.  "Since last Friday when Caroline pulled him in to talk about discretion."  
      
Kanani glowered to the field for a moment before promptly responding with, "That atrocious whore.  No wonder he's been such a bastard."  
      
"I still think he's gonna kick you out," Salem informed her dryly.  
      
"Duh, yeah, I know.  I just meant his attitude in general.  I mean, hell, I took a job getting photographed in couture ballgowns in fucking _New Zealand_ to get away from him.  _New Zealand_!  Can you believe that?"  Kanani huffed, shaking her head while Salem frowned at her, wondering whether he should even bother commenting.  
      
"Is something wrong with New Zealand?"  
      
Kanani ignored his question and fumed, muttering, "I see you asshole.  I see you.  And you'd better get laid soon so I don't kill you…or wind up in China."  
      
Salem frowned at her, thoroughly confused.  What was wrong with New Zealand?  And China?  He was beginning to think that it was all _Kanani_.  That the chick was more than a little bit crazy verging on total raging nutjob wacko that he wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole even if he'd been straight and into that kind of thing.  
      
Wisely (if he did say so himself), Salem choose not to respond.  
      
Eyes scanning the field, the sea of red players seemed to blend together as everyone moved onto the field, getting into position as the game prepared to start.  Silence fell over the stadium, and Kanani straightened beside him, eyes zeroing onto the field with laser-like focus.  In the stillness, Bailey's number popped out from amongst the throng of players, standing slightly back from the front line with a thin activewear headband in to hold back his mass of hair and dressed in head to toe red and white.  
      
Salem's lips curved into an automatic smile as his gaze landed and lingered on the familiar man.  Even from this distance, even from not seeing him in person in three months, even watching a sport that tended to bore him to tears, Bailey made his breath catch and heart pound and hands sweat and dick twitch like he was a horny fucking teenager not a 21-year-old with plenty of healthy relationships under his belt and another one he should be nurturing instead of pining over a closeted baby star soccer player with commitment issues.  
      
Situation: fucked.

* * *

For a second, Bailey thought Carey was _already_ drunk when he greeted Bailey by yelling out: "Mate!  You were on absolute _fire_ tonight!"  
      
Bailey pursed his lips together and narrowed his eyes on his red-haired Irish friend before someone attacked him from behind.  An arm roped around his neck and tried to force him down into a headlock, but he slipped it quickly by punching Rafa's side.  Shrugging off the dark look Bailey shot him and the attempt to shrug him off, Rafa slunk back over and threw an arm around Bailey's neck while he sighed and slanted a sideways look at Rafa who grinned.  "Trying to impress your girlfriend?"  
      
 _Yeah, that's it._   Bailey nearly rolled his eyes, but since he could hardly explain why he'd played like a recruiter was looking to take him to…well…the Premier League for his impossibly sexy gay friend, a lie was clearly better suited than the truth.  
      
The Twelve Pins was a pre-game hangout for fans, and a post-game hangout for the team's younger members, which generally included Bailey (dragged out by Carey) and Rafa (who was nearing thirty but continued to pretend he was ten years younger than his actual age) and half of their twenty-four man roster.  They came often enough that they'd basically become furniture.  First, it had been a bit crazy when fans had wandered in talk and ask for autographs, now they played drinking games together and argued over the chances of other football clubs and rugby teams.  One of the midfielders had even started an inner pub fantasy football team.  
      
Ridiculous.  
      
Carey waggled his eyebrows and leered at him, "Kanani was here, huh?"  
      
Bailey shook his head, "That's quite enough from the two of you."  
      
Sam, their usual bartender, smiled sympathetically at Bailey.  "Just water today or you want a virgin drink?"  
      
The immature, overgrown brats that Carey and Rafa were collapsed in a fit of giggles while Bailey sighed and nodded at the bartender with a grateful smile, "Yeah, may I have that strawberry and watermelon thing you gave me last time?"  
      
"Sure thing, Bailey."  
      
"And can I have a—?" Rafa started.  
      
"You're cut off," Sam retorted, shaking his head.  
      
Rafa gaped, "I just got here!"  
      
Sam nodded sagely, "This is me taking preventive action."  
      
Carey chuckled while Rafa groaned in annoyance.  Shaking his head and fighting a smile, Bailey plopped himself down on a barstool, eyes scanning the crowded bar for any sign of him.  His heart pounded wildly in anticipation.  _I feel like a fucking retarded teenager.  Next thing you know, I'll be waxing poetry, doodling our names together on a notebook, and getting a couples tattoo like Irial and Crispin._ Bailey scowled at his own thoughts.  Their whole lives were basically a monument to their love affair.  
      
That was some kind of sappy Bailey hoped never to emulated and knew that regardless he'd never have someone to have that with despite the fairytale romance most of the United Kingdom believed he'd been living for the year or so he'd been parading around the island with Kanani.  Literally, there'd been a whole spread in one of the rags about it like living with someone who was perpetually in and out of the country was any fun let alone if they were shagging.  
      
A ripple seemed to move through the crowd a moment before it parted like the Red Sea to let Kanani through.  She hadn't bothered to change between the game and their outing, wandering in looking like a walking model for Arsenal wear in her Arsenal brand scarf, earrings, jersey, and team jacket that she'd apparently stolen from Bailey's closet.  Pausing to flit her gaze between the three men, she settled on Sam with a saucy wink and a coy smile.  
      
"Hey lover."  
      
Sam snorted as he refilled Carey's near empty beer and slid Bailey's girlie pink drink on the counter beside him.  Kanani eyed it with a single, perfectly plucked eyebrow raised.  "Alright, darling, if you say so, and I'll go get you that old-fashioned, eh?  Since you never drink anything else."  
      
"I'm a simple gal."  
      
Everyone laughed while Bailey tossed her a dry look as she slid close to him at the bar, leaning up to whisper in his ear.  "You were unbelievable.  Sure, you don't want to give baby boy another ride?"  
      
Unamused, Bailey stared at her levelly, expression hard.  
      
Taking the proffered drink from Sam, Kanani smiled innocently, "I brought him, don't worry."  
      
"Then where––?" Bailey started tensely as a body slammed into the bar next to him.  Rafa narrowed his eyes on the figure while Carey just seemed amused.  The action hadn't surprised Kanani in the slightest apparently as she continued to sip her drink like nothing had happened.  Whirling his head around, Bailey fought a smile at the harassed look on the Salem's face, someone (probably the too-amused Kanani) having forced him into a jersey with Bailey's name on it.  Glancing over at Bailey, his jade eyes met Bailey before he huffed and shook his head.  
      
He couldn't resist.  
      
Bailey smiled, ignoring his friends choking on their drinks.  "Interesting attire.  I had no idea you were so into branding."  
      
"Shut the fuck up," Salem said slowly, warningly even as his lips started to curl up.  
      
"Guinness, Sam," Bailey ordered before the bartender could even ask.  Sam hesitated, shooting Bailey a questioning look, but he didn't look away from Salem who smirked without looking at him and shaking his head.  Throwing up his hands, Sam nodded and turned to get the order.  Bailey turned and yelled, "And put it on my tab!"  
      
"Look," Salem started, "I know I'm poor college student with no skills, but I can pay for my poison."  
      
Bailey tugged on the end of Salem's ponytail, smiling down at him, "It's your birthday."  
      
"Please.  Way to overshadow my birthday with your awesome superman routine.  How many goals did you get today?"  
      
Blushing, Bailey shifted uneasily with a sick feeling spreading through him.  He hadn't _seriously_ upstaged Salem's birthday, right?  He hadn't _meant_ to.  He'd just been doing his job, doing what he loved, playing the game he loved, the best way he knew how to play it.  _And showing off,_ he thought to himself, _you can admit you were showing off, arse.  You were trying to be impressive and more attractive to someone who's smart and funny and open and has way more going for him than you, and instead of impressing him, you ruined his birthday.  That's really nice.  Go me!_  
      
"A lot!" Carey barked out a laugh, appearing on Salem's other side while Bailey still frowned, biting the inside of his cheek and silently berating himself.  Rafa frowned as he looked between them, and Salem lightly kicked his shin.  "Like _four_.  Arsehole wanted to dominate today for his lovely lady friend, right?"  
      
Kanani sputtered, nearly spitting out her drink; Sam shot her a poisonous glare, and the model raised her hands innocently like she'd done nothing.  
      
Right.  
      
"Why do you still need to impress her?  Its been a year."  Rafa remarked.  
      
Bailey kept his eyes trained on the toes of his Timberland boots wishing that the floor would swallow him up.  The stunned disbelief radiated off Salem in waves while Kanani's disapproval was evident.  _She_ was a hopeless romantic.  Her last girlfriend had doused his hallways in rose petals, bought her chocolate, and played a Luther Vandross loop for her welcome home (entirely unaware that she'd had a roommate).  _Good times_.  
      
"This is why your girlfriend hates you, Rafe."  Kanani beamed innocently at him.  
      
Salem ducked his head to hide his smile while Rafa's face clearly asked what the fuck she was talking about.  Carey scoffed, "I thought they hated him because he can't keep his dick in his pants."  
      
"Neither can you," Rafa shot back.  
      
Carey nodded knowingly, "Right.  But I don't actually really _have_ girlfriends.  I have dates not girlfriends so that they don't leech my money from me and expect commitment."  
      
Stifling a laugh, Salem leaned towards Bailey, the scent of his aftershave washing over Bailey.  His whole body stood at attention immediately, mind flashing back to the three days he'd spent breathing in the scent that was uniquely Salem, growing more and more delicious as the stench of marijuana had faded away.  _Tasted delicious too_ , the part of his mind that clearly hadn't a lick of common sense reminded him.  Salem's hot breath whispered over his skin, "Your friends are crazy."  
      
Bailey smiled sheepishly up at Salem, the older man cocking his head and smiling thoughtfully at him.  Lust darkened his eyes, and Bailey swallowed the rising urge he had to touch Salem any way he could.  _Not the time.  Not the place._  
      
"I'm Carey Ahearn," Carey introduced himself to Salem who grinned and nodded.  "That slag there is Rafa, Rafael Correa."  
      
Salem nodded, "Bailey talks about you all the time."  
      
 _No, I don't_.  Bailey shot Salem a questioning look, and Salem shrugged discreetly, nodding to Rafa and Carey who looked extremely pleased with that lie.  
      
"I'm Salem Petrov, Bailey's friend."  
      
Rafa raised his eyebrows, "I didn't realize you had such interesting friends.  Where'd you two crazy kids meet?"  
      
"Rio," they answered in tandem.  
      
"So you've seen him play before?" Kanani asked curiously.  
      
"Like that? No," Salem shook his head.  "That was…I don't even like soccer, and I know that was incredible."  Bailey's eyes shot up to Salem who smiled at him indulgently.  He ducked his head and bit his lip while Salem leaned into his side and smiled at his friends, "Shots?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you're Monday update rife with sexual tension and angst that you almost didn't have because I've been catatonic with illness the last three or four days (which coincidentally means no writing got done this weekend...shit. Blk water...is not gross but it tricks your mind into thinking it is. I have two bottles of it in my fridge and hopefully I'll never have to drink it again. I just can't. The Twelve Pins actually is a pre-game hangout for Arsenal fans (gotta love Google) but probably not a post game hangout for the team *shrugs* research only goes so far. And tomorrow I get to go do my interview for my Visa...whoo...see ya Wednesday.


	11. "Blurred Lines" by Robin Thicke

**Carey Ahearn (@carey_me_home)**  
@Salem_Daiki bought 2 many shots #AlcoholPoisoning #NeverDrinkingAgain  
  
**Rafael Correa (@Rafa86)**  
@ArthurBailey, @Salem_Daiki is cool peeps  
  
**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**  
@Rafa86 I dont speak sad American slang  
  
To: kingarthurb@gmail.com.uk  
From: jameschristopher@gmail.com.uk  
Subject: Christmas  
Arthur,  
Rhiannon and I are hosting the family Christmas party this year and wanted to know if you'd be making an appearance. It would mean a lot to our mum.  
James  
  
**Kelley G (@KelleyKatoKit)**  
@Kanani_Pahala seems to be a good luck charm for @ArthurBailey #ShesComingRight #FingersCrossed  
  
**Delicious Della (@Delaney9x17)**  
@KelleyKatoKit sorry boo, she's in New Zealand so some hope for my Swansea  
  
**Lawrence Baylor (@LalaLawrence)**  
Hoping for another 4pt game from @ArthurBailey #ThatWasAmazing #ImSoImpressed  
  
**Text message from Bailey to Salem**  
**Bailey** : U gonna watch my game?  
**Salem** : Maybe...  
**Bailey** : Yes? :D  
**Salem** : We'll see Arthur...depends if you gonna score for me?  
**Bailey** : XD  
  
To: jameschristopher@gmail.com.uk  
From: kingarthurb@gmail.com.uk  
Subject: RE: Christmas  
James,  
I have an away game the 26th in Newcastle. There's simply no time.  
Sorry,  
Arthur  
  
**Text message from Kanani to Salem**  
**Kanani** : How about seeing about the roommate sitch?  
**Salem** : See me when you get back  
**Kanani** : The 24th  
**Salem** : Fine. We'll all be here.  
**Kanani** : Thx!!!! :DDDD

* * *

 

Barking.  
      
The apartment was barking which definitely crossed a line from the usual kind of drama into the bizarre.  Salem paused outside of the door and frowned.  
      
His neighbors stepped out of their apartment, the redhead sighing as she looked towards her lanky hipster boyfriend with clear annoyance on her face.  "They've got a dog now?  Un-freaking-believable.  First, they blast Breaking Fourth all hours of day, as if I don't hear enough of that at work, and now they have some yappy little canine.  Kill me, Harry.  I can feel insomnia cresting through my body already."  
      
Harry looked down at his girlfriend, shaking his head with an indulgent smile; he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his side as he kissed the top of her head.  "Rosie, I think you could do with less coffee."  Rosie scowled while Harry looked up to meet Salem's eyes, nodding his head in greeting.  
      
Rosie's eyes scanned over him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, "You live in Boom Box City here?"  
      
"Not for much longer," Salem admitted honestly.  
      
Huffing, Rosie commended, "Amen to you, my fellow American."  
      
Salem laughed while Harry shook his head and propelled her forward towards the stairs, waving goodbye to Salem.  
      
With a sigh, he turned back to the door and pushed inside.  Someone had been cooking since, in addition to the outrageous heat, barking, and sounds of the television, the whole house smelled like…pasta.  Salem could handle pasta, anything more complicated than that tended to be shoe leather from how overcooked it was as Georgia had zero skills in the kitchen beyond tossing spices around haphazardly, Bastian simply didn't have the concentration and always got distracted, and Max refused to cook at all (most likely because he _could_ and didn't want to become go-to chef).  
      
Salem could respect that.  
      
He stripped off his raincoat and dropped it on the rack by the door, struggling out of his rain boots.  He heard someone laugh a moment before Max called out, "Someone beating you up over there?"  
      
"Go die in a hole somewhere Priest!" Salem retorted, foot coming free with one final yank.  He held his hands up triumphantly, kicking them away before loping into the living room and freezing as his eyes fell on Kanani sitting cross-legged on a fuzzy pink fold-up chair, her eyes on the screen playing _Legally Blonde_ while a scrawny cinnamon-colored Cocker Spaniel puppy ran across the floor from Georgia to Bastian to stare longingly up at Max who paid him no mind and back again.  Frowning, Salem reached for his cell phone while Kanani beamed up at him, "Did I miss the memo?  Is it already Saturday?"  
      
His phone confirmed it, definitely Friday, which begged the question: what the was Kanani doing there?  
      
"Like you'd miss Christmas Eve, Sale," Bastian scoffed.  
      
Salem glared at the back of the man's head before turning back to Kanani, "What are you—?"  
      
"I got in a day early," Kanani remarked lightly, "and wanted to introduce myself and Edward to our future roommates."  She scooped the puppy up and peppered his face with kiss, saying, "And you love it here Eddie, don't you?  Don't you mommy's boy?"  
      
Salem crossed his eyes and walked into the kitchen, opening the window and cracking the patio door to let some of the hot air escape.  He peered into the pot of white sauce, bow tie noodles, and chicken.  So Max had cooked with Bastian, good to know.  
      
"Where were you?"  Georgia inquired coyly, "On a date?"  
      
Kanani leaned back to look up at him with interest while Salem sat down beside Max and snorted.  "I wish.  I had a business meeting and then met Craig to look at his studio in Camden Town."  
      
"You gonna rent it?" Max asked.  
      
"Is it sexy?" Bastian waggled his eyebrows.  
      
Salem blinked at the latter.  "I don't get this fad.  How can buildings and food and like furniture be sexy?  I'm so confused."  
      
Kanani frowned at him, "How old are you?"  Salem flipped her off while she laughed, stretching to prop her legs up on the coffee table, the dog stretching across her lap.  "So you're moving out?  Yes?  Say yes."  
      
Max shot her a cold look while Salem patted his friend's head in silent thanks.  "Yes, Kanani, I'm moving out next month.  Craig said he'll be out by the start of semester so I'll be in by January 9th…hopefully."  
      
"Great, because Edward needs a stable home."  
      
Salem and Max shared a 'you've got to be kidding me' look while Bastian's eyes turned to Georgia who stared at the puppy for a minute before saying, "He could stay with us until you move in."  
      
Salem choked.  Kanani beamed, "Oh my God really?"  
      
_No, no, please no, not really._  
      
"Of course, we'll keep the puppy!"  Bastian exclaimed cheerfully.  Max smiled fondly down at his boyfriend before shooting Salem an apologetic look.  
      
Some days it sucked to have such sappy friends.  Max and Bastian were an interesting couple to be around.  Bastian was loud and flamboyant and demanding.  Max, on the other hand, was quiet and serene and nurturing.  He'd give his boyfriend the world if he could, though he was never outwardly sappy like that, choosing to communicate his feelings in doing things like letting Bastian turn their living room into the inside of a party bus and allowing him to foster someone else's yappy puppy.  They adored each other, worked surprisingly well together with Bastian as the mouthpiece and Max as his silent support, their love and understanding of each other in the silences of unsaid things most people talked about when it came to relationships.  And Max's unerring adoration for his boyfriend's despite his over-the-top personality was the only reason Salem put up with it.  He'd put up with a lot for Max.  
      
"I had no idea you only had gay friends, Salem," Kanani remarked, staring between Max and Bastian before her eyes cut to Georgia.  She quickly amended, "And girls."  
      
"Oh, you'd be surprised," Salem remarked.  Georgia shot him a poisonous glare.  Max tipped his head back to give Salem a carefully bland look; Bastian didn't even bother, burying his head into Max's arm to stifle giggles.  
      
Kanani frowned, "What does that mean?"  
      
"Nothing," the apartment's current resident repeated in unison while Bastian devolved into giggles, throwing himself across his boyfriend's lap.  Max kept his face composed, only the corners of his lips twitching as he carded his fingers through Bastian's wayward bush of hair.  When Kanani raised her eyebrows at Bastian, Georgia scowled at him, and Bastian covered his face with his hands and quoted along with the movie, "'I just don't think that Brooke could've done this. Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don't shoot their husbands, they just don't.'"  
      
Rolling her eyes, Kanani tossed a pillow at him, and Bastian caught it with a grin, hugging it to his midsection and snuggling into Max.  Georgia frowned thoughtfully before saying, "Not _all_ his friends.  I mean, there's Charlie."  
      
Salem caught himself before he started choking while Max and Bastian both fell out, their laughter mingling together while Salem blinked wide-eyed at the screen, lips pursed and a slight smile on his face.  Leave it to the gays to out Chaz.  
      
Georgia frowned at them, "I'm confused."  
      
"Who's Charlie?"  
      
"Charlie Beck," Georgia elucidated.  
      
Kanani whipped her head around to stare wide-eyed at Salem, "You know Charlie Beck?  Child star, now in _Ethereal_ with that smexy Colin Farrell look alike Patrick Gallagher, Charlie Beck?"  
      
"Yeah, yeah," Salem said awkwardly, "we met in Boston a few years ago, stayed in contact, kinda like Max actually."  
      
Salem tipped his head back to study Max, face screwed up.  Max leaned his head back in turn to meet Salem's eyes seriously before one of his brilliant, sparkly smiles spread across his face.  "You have a way with people."  
      
"I'm glad you think so."  Salem smiled at him while Max reached up to poke his cheek.  
      
His phone rang, and Salem frowned, yanking it out and gaping for a second at the caller ID before getting to his feet and walking to the patio.  Max raised his eyebrows at Salem in concern, and Salem shook his head, opening the door, not even blinking as the Cocker Spaniel jumped up, barking happily as it darted outside past Salem.  He rolled his eyes, closing the door behind him and plopping down on the table.  Salem's eyes followed the borderline manic dog as he answered.  
      
"Michi."  
      
" _Kon'nichiwa ani_ ," a familiar breathy voice said, just high enough that it could be considered feminine yet still low enough to be distinctly male.  Dear, androgynous Michi all the way.  " _Merīkurisumasu_!"  
      
Salem smirked, "Since when do you celebrate Christmas?"  
      
"I do not.  I am a Buddhist.  Am I early?"  
      
"A little bit.  Good to hear from you though.  You still dating that guy?"  
      
Michi hummed thoughtfully, " _Ie_.  We stopped seeing each other a little while ago.  I'm dating this girl right now.  Akiko."  
      
"A fan?" Salem asked pointedly.  
      
" _Ie_ Daiki," Michi huffed, but Salem wasn't convinced.  Edward barked at him, and Salem eyed the dog distastefully, "Was that a _dog_?  You hate dogs."  
      
"No," Salem retorted, "I hate loud, needy, hyperactive things."  
      
"So dogs?"  
      
Rolling his eyes, Salem snapped at the dog who shut up and stood at attention immediately, tail wagging as he stared up eagerly at Salem, "Not that I'm not tickled pink you thought of me, why _are_ you calling me?"  
      
"I need a new tablet for one thing, and Tasha told me you were making some finally."  
      
"You've been talking to _my_ mother?"  
      
" _Mochiron_.  She is much easier to talk to than mine."  
      
_That_ was undoubtedly true.  Salem hadn't met his stepmother, Hikari, all that often, but the couple times they'd met had been enough.  The Japanese woman was nice enough for someone who'd grown up in a yakuza family, but she had high expectations for her children, Salem included, and smothered them to get things accomplished.  It was no wonder both Michi and Izumi had rebelled in their own ways.  
      
Salem smiled and shook his head, "Email me your current address, and I'll send you what I have."  
      
" _Arigatō_ ," Michi said happily, "and also, I am coming to visit you."  
      
"Yeah?  When?"  
      
"No time soon, but I am preparing you.  We have been recording and touring and repeat, repeat, _ripīto_ , so whenever I get a lull.  Probably early summer.  Just let me know where you are going to be around July because I know your Visa expires around that time, _hai_?"  
      
" _Hai_ ," Salem confirmed as his phone squealed.  He cringed and looked away, smiling automatically when he saw who was calling, "That all?"  
      
Michi wasn't ruffled in the slightest, laughing, " _Hai ani.  Sayōnara_.  I will talk to you later, Daiki."  
      
He rolled his eyes, "Yeah, yeah."  
      
"Go get your boy!"  
      
"Shut up," Salem replied, hanging up on Michi's musical laughter and answering his other phone call, "Arthur."

* * *

Bailey always hated Christmas.  Okay, maybe not _always_ but for a long, long time since his first Christmas at boarding school where his father had been in Germany playing diplomat and therefore couldn't allow Bailey to come home and couldn't come visit him, which had been the first of many missed holidays.  The only time he'd ever really seen his family had been summer vacations up until the time he turned thirteen when he decided he didn't want to; if they weren't going to make an effort, neither was he, and he'd designated summers from that point on to foreign, summer-long football clinics.  
      
Christmas time showed him how truly alone he was, alienated from everyone else.  Benedikt had designated the last week family week, him and his wife, and their two kids making a run to Israel for Hanukkah with her family before returning on Christmas Eve for a quick Christmas celebration.  Carey had flown to Belfast to spend the week leading up to Christmas with his family and daughter, Alana, even though it meant having to play nice with his still bitter ex, Molly.  Kanani was still in New Zealand and even when she did get back, she'd only be there to grab a change of clothes and then be on the first plane to the States so that she could jump over to Hawaii for Christmas Day.  
      
He had no one.  
      
Granted, Bailey could have gone to visit his family, spend the Christmas season with James and Rhiannon and his parents and the rest of his clan, they were only down schmoozing in the pair's Westminster townhouse, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it.  Couldn't bring himself back to that pained look from his mother, the disappointed scowl from his father, the gazes from his siblings that said he could have been so much more than what he was.  He'd so divorced them that he hadn't even tried to visit his older sister in Rio even when they been barely 100 yards apart in Athlete's Village.  
      
He just couldn't.  
      
Sighing, Bailey frowned into the depths of his unattractive array of sustenance staining his fridge interior.  _Gross, gross, double gross, what is_ that _?_   Pursing his lips, Bailey grabbed a bottle of water, frowning at it before shoving it back onto the shelf and flipping on his tea kettle, digging through the collection of tea bags until he found a lone bag of Earl Grey.  
      
Padding barefoot to his living room, Bailey curled up on his couch and pulled the afghan across him as he flipped on the television, wrinkling his nose at all the Christmas movies playing.  It was a virtual sea of good feelings, Christmas carols, and sappy happy endings that made him want to pull his hair out; swallowing hard, Bailey sipped his tea, wincing as the hot liquid burnt his throat and tongue but grateful the pain gave him something to focus on other than the desolate loneliness of his house or how completely he'd become sexually frustrated.  
      
Not that he'd had sex all that often, maybe twice a weekend every two weeks or so, but he'd decided this was one of those situations where the mind became more of an enemy than anything else.  
      
His eyes fell on the mobile he'd haphazardly thrown onto his coffee table after reading the latest number on the League Table like Arsenal's management wasn't obsessed enough with it to quote to the team twice a week at least during practices.  Bailey hesitated, knowing he shouldn't, knowing that his attachment to Salem had already drifted into dangerous waters.  He bit his bottom lip and flipped stations again, settling on a very anti-Christmas _The Purge_ and _The Purge: Anarchy_ back to back marathon.  
      
_Fuck it._  
      
Bailey snatched the phone off the coffee table and dialed Salem's number by heart, listening with rising anticipation to the dial tone before it cut off with an abrupt click.  
      
"Arthur."  
      
He rolled his eyes but grinned, "Konstantin."  
      
"Still not my first name," he sighed, though the words were hardly a chastisement.  
      
"You're more than welcome to tell me your given name anytime.  Like now.  Now would be fantastic."  
      
Salem laughed, and Bailey's stomach flipped at the sound as he relaxed into the couch cushions, eyes absently resting on the carnage on screen.  "No thanks.  I've already had one person call me that today.  If two do it I might go into shock."  
      
"I'm jealous now.  Who gets to call you by your name?  You're hiding a boyfriend from me, Salem?"  Bailey leaned his head over the side of the couch, staring out the window at the near empty street outside.  His stomach twisted.  The words had been light, the tone teasing that verged on coquettish, but Bailey sincerely hoped that Salem didn't have a boyfriend.  
      
_Which is selfish since you won't date him,_ Bailey reminded himself.  
      
The reminder didn't help.  
      
"No need.  Michi and I are not liable to fuck.  I think that level of incest is still illegal," Salem assured him, and Bailey relaxed.  "Don't get me wrong though, he's virile and kinky enough I'm not sure our 50% of shared DNA would be that much of a turn off, but I'm not down with that."  
      
Bailey grinned and shook his head, frowning when he heard a bark from over the line followed by a sharp command from Salem that immediately shut the dog up.  "Is that a _dog_?"  
  
"Is that a horror movie at Christmas time?"  Salem responded in a feigned scandalized tone.  
      
"Hardly, it's _The Purge_."  He rolled his eyes and sipped his tea, coughing and sputtering when he realized trying to drink tea partially upside with a growing head rush was a slight less than completely horrid idea.  "You hate dogs."  
      
"Why does everyone keep saying that?  I don't.  I just dislike…energy," Salem said in a more subdued tone as if realizing halfway through that that had only proved Bailey's point.  "Anyway, you aren't calling to wish me an early Merry Christmas too, are you?"  
      
"No, I'm English.  It would be a Happy Christmas."  
      
"Okay Harry Potter, calm down," Salem replied sounding harassed.  "I wouldn't mind.  I wouldn't even make fun.  At least you're actually Christian as opposed to the Buddhist who can't even remember the date and is probably just overwhelmed with life, which was why he bothered to call at all."  
      
"Wow, nice of you to heavily dose me with family drama."  
      
"Apologies," he said sheepishly.  
      
Bailey shook his head before realizing Salem couldn't see that.  "It's alright.  We all have some."  
      
"You want to talk about yours?"  
      
"Depends, you want to come to a New Year's Eve party with me?"  The offer slipped out before Bailey could stop it.  
      
"So no, then."  Salem sounded amused, and Bailey's heart sank at the subtle rejection.  Over the line, Salem coughed, "I like parties, though…sometimes.  I'm good at them."  
      
Which was an odd thing to say, but Bailey chose not to push it, too overwhelmed in the happiness and excitement that came with Salem agreeing to come out with him.  He frowned as he heard the dog bark again, "Who's dog is that?"  
      
Salem laughed sharply, "Guess."  
      
_Oh, my fault then._  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for Wednesday: a healthy dose of Salem's brother and Bailey's depressing loneliness. My computer battery is shot. And I'm having a panic attack because I sent in all my visas stuff to the consulate in New York. This is me panicking. Anyway, did you know Japanese doesn't have a single precise word for 'no'? I didn't until I looked it up 'ie' was approximately 'incorrect'. The Japanese: Google Translate don't crucify me. Just wait until the next chapter when shit gets real.


	12. "Stay With Me" by Sam Smith

**Bakar Bengochea (@Bakar04Basque)**

New Year's Eve party tonight!!! #HappyNewYears#WhoWillYouKiss #PartyLikeItsHot

 

**Carey Ahearn (@carey_me_home)**

Who else thinks Cap @Bakar04Basque already started drinking? #PartyDoesntStartForAnHour

 

**Rafael Correa (@Rafa86)**

@carey_me_home who else has the urge to sing Party Like A Rockstar on loop?

 

**Benedikt Roland (@Bennyboy9)**

@Rafa86 I think that's just you.

 

**Kanani Kapuana (@Kanani_Pahala)**

Luau on the beach to celebrate New Year's Eve! #HappyNewYears #IGotALei #GoodCleanFamilyFunCotton

 

**Text message from Salem to Bailey**

**Salem:** Are you actually gonna drink at this party?

**Bailey:** & if i am?

**Salem:** Just checking to see if I should wear my comfy shoes and puke proof jacket.

**Bailey:** I am actually capable of holding liquor.

**Salem:** Look! A full sentence with proper grammar.

**Salem:**...was that painful for you?

**Bailey:** Just 4 tht u can get urself there

**Salem:** Say it isn't so! How will I ever get myself to Primrose Hill? If only a train went there! Oh wait...

**Bailey:** -__-

**Salem:** ;D

 

**Carey Ahearn (@carey_me_home)**

@ArthurBailey brought back my new favorite person @Salem_Daiki

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

@Salem_Daiki I figured out ur given name!!!

 

**Rafael Correa (@Rafa86)**

@Bennyboy9 @carey_me_home @Salem_Daiki I think @ArthurBailey is drunk O.0

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

Where am I? #ThisHouseIsTooBig #IJustNeededABathroom #SOS

 

**Georgia Hanson (@ChangedGeorgia)**

@Salem_Daiki yes, where ARE you?

* * *

 

"Have you seen Bailey?"

"Not since you asked me hardly five minutes ago," Chloe Sommerset hissed at Salem who reeled back like he'd been smacked simply so that he could glare at her malevolently. The dyed blonde Irishwoman offered him a tight lipped smile and tossed back her champagne, raising her eyebrows at him.

Salem offered her bland smile before turning to Rafa who'd passed drunk about three glasses of vodka ago. "Your girlfriend's a bitch."

Chloe gasped comically, and Salem laughed at her while Carey threw his arm around Salem's shoulders, "And a gold-digger, you forgot that one."  She stiffed while Carey frowned at Salem, cupping his face in his hands and asking, "Where's Bailey?"

"That's what _I'd_ like to know," Salem muttered, patting the very drunk soccer player on the shoulder. Carey slumped forward and leaned his head on Salem's shoulder.

"He's probably still pouting about the Newcastle game.  It was _my_ fault.  I wasn't on my game.  He blames himself though because all the newspapers do, you know?  Which I think secretly pisses of Cap which is why he invites him to these parties.  They make Bailey uncomfortable because he's inhuman and uncomfortable around like people. You know what I mean?"

Unfortunately, Salem knew exactly what he meant.  He just wished that even in Carey's intoxication he hadn't _said_ it, especially given the way the people around them—Chloe included—snickered meanly.  Their sober teammates shot their companions sharp looks, but the damage had been done. Salem sighed and shook his head, choosing not to respond in hopes they'd drop the subject.

They didn't.

Instead, Rafa tittered drunkenly and remarked, "It's weird, you know?  He's always been like that, but not with you. He like _smiled_ at you after that Manchester City game."

"Dude," Salem remarked tartly, "how the fuck do you even remember that while your this fucking hammered?"

"What's with attitude, _pendejo_?" Rafa shot back, clearly someone was a surly drunk.

Carey frowned at Rafa, "You don't speak Spanish."

"I speak Spanish curses."

Salem sighed and ran his hand through his loose hair, "How much did Bailey have to drink between I went to the bathroom and he wandered off?"

"Um…" Carey frowned while Rafa pursed his lips and counted to himself.

Sighing, Salem looked at Rafa's bitchy plastic girlfriend, realizing with dread, that she was the only one not drunk.  Chloe smiled through thin lips, "So now you need me for something, boyo?  What makes you think I want to share what I know with you after you insulted me?"

He smiled genially at her. "Fuck if I care. I'll do it myself."

Without waiting for another word, Salem spun on his heel and marched through the crowd, nursing his spiked coke delicately.

He'd always been good at parties, at working crowds, and winning people.  Salem had the kind of confidence that made people take attention of him and congregate around him.  No doubt, Salem knew how to work a crowd and room…when they were _sober_. No, he wasn't an angel. He smoked pot and drank beer and once upon a time he'd puffed cigarettes like they were going out of style, but intoxication was ugly and addiction even more so.  Personally, Salem was of the belief if you couldn't moderate then you had no business touching substances that turned stronger men into depressed addicts that killed themselves. (Hello? Anyone remember Hemingway? Van Gogh?  Jimmy Morrison?) And it seemed to him that people in the fast lane under a spotlight with more money than sense tended to be next to incapable of managing their vices.

It was a bit like falling down the rabbit hole.

One second, the party had been an intimate if slightly pretentious gathering of twenty and thirty something year olds drinking champagne and liquor worth more than Salem's apartment (which admittedly suited Bailey perfectly fine).  There had been quiet music and amicable chatting and a whole lot of drinking.  Salem had taken a bathroom break and come back out to find himself halfway to the playboy mansion.

Okay, so playboy mansion might have been a little extreme since there wasn't an abundance of half naked girls wandering around, but there was too much alcohol for already intoxicated people, club music pounding through the stereo, a dimming of lights and the steady grind of asses into crotches that was so borderline erotic it would have turned on a weaker man, even a gay one.  Somewhere along the way of offering the remnants of his mixed berry soaked vodka to Bailey and departing for the bathroom, Salem had gotten lost in the sea of rooms that comprised Arsenal's Basque captain, Bakar Bengochea's, overpriced Primrose Hill mansion and had, in turn, lost Bailey.

_That_ was the really bizarre thing though, considering how antisocial Bailey was, and how uneasy Bailey tended to be in large crowds since he was a control freak.

Wading through the room, Salem nodded at people Bailey—okay, Rafa and Carey with Bailey in tow—had introduced him to while his eyes scanned the crowded interior for any sign of his wayward teenaged soccer player.  Bakar who was probably nearing retirement but obviously still fancied himself a spring chicken and a player at that, stood up on a chair, waving his hands to get the attention of the room.

"Alright lovelies," Bakar grinned while Salem rolled his eyes, leaning against the doorframe to watch him as the crowd sent up a loud, excited cheer.  "One minute until the New Year!"

Shaking his head, Salem pushed through the crowd and made his way outside to Bakar's backyard where the music could still be heard albeit mutedly through thin walls and open windows. Laughter and light spilled out into the shadowy backyard, and Salem took a deep breath in of the fresh air, tilting his head back to staring up at the starry sky.

"Hey," a familiar posh accent whispered in his ear, stepping out of the shadows of the backyard and offering Salem a half-smile.

Salem smiled back unconsciously, "How drunk are you?"

"I'm not drunk," Bailey retorted lazily, "just a little tipsy."

"Really?" Salem asked archly, doubtfully, "And how much have you had to drink tonight?"

"Just what you gave me."  Off of Salem's disbelieving look, Bailey sighed, "Promise.  I wanted to be clearheaded for this."

"For New Year's Eve? Who wants to be semi-sober and clearheaded for New Year's?"

Bailey cocked his head and smiled at Salem, the sound of the countdown to 2017 drifting out of the windows.

"Five!"

"Well, this is awkward."

"Four!"

Bailey shook his head, grinning at uncomfortable and awkward Salem, "Not really."

"Three!"

Salem balked because this whole thing was really, _really_ awkward given that people tended to kiss on midnight, and Salem had wanted to kiss Bailey since he'd shot him a disgusted look out of the corner of his eye that he'd so desperately tried to hide outside of some sketch dive bar in Rio.  And he hadn't really stopped wanting to since then.

"Two!"

"How is this _not_ ––?"

"One!"

Taking Salem by complete surprise, Bailey pushed Salem back into the wall of the house, the shadow of the patio's awning covering them as Bailey's hard body pressed Salem's into the wall. He barely had time to figure out what the hell was going on while Bailey's mouth descended on his for the first time in months.

Thinking went out the window, and Salem barely heard the "Happy New Year" shouts over the sound of his own racing heartbeat.  Fire spread through his body as he kissed back, mouth opening under Bailey's as their tonguing twined together, the similarities in their height allowing their groins to press against each other, the rising friction making Salem groan into Bailey's mouth.  Salem arms wrapped around Bailey's neck, his fingers lacing through Bailey's hair and tugging on it in a way guaranteed to make Bailey's head fall back as he moaned, Salem sealing their lips back together to stifle the sound.

Pulling back, Salem frowned at Bailey in confusion even as his body demanded release. "What the hell are you doing, Arthur?"

Bailey swallowed hard and shook his head as if he was trying to clear it, not moving his body from where it sandwiched Salem between himself and the wall.  He hummed as his chilly fingers slipped beneath the hem of Salem's shirt, ghosting over the skin of his hips leaving a trail of goosebumps behind and stopping to press against just below his bellybutton, too close to his raging erection.

He opened his mouth to respond before looking down to meet Salem's eyes, an obvious war lurking in the back of his eyes before he laughed sheepishly, humorlessly and said, "I want you. I've _wanted_ you since you left the hotel room in Rio."

Salem ran his thumbs over Bailey's cheekbones before pulling his head down so that Salem could give him a lingering, intense kiss, that only made him harder. He pulled back, their eyes meeting and smirked impishly, " _Da miliy moy.  Otvezite menya k krovati_."

* * *

 

"Stop stop stop stop stop, you gotta stop, Sale.  I'm trying to drive," Bailey panted, resting his forehead against the steering wheel, his hands gripping ten and two so tightly it had become painful as he fought to keep himself from thrusting up into wet heat of the mouth engulfing his cock.

Salem pulled off just enough to grin up at Bailey, lips swollen from their earlier heated kiss up against the wall of his captain's house, which had hardly been a sound plan, and eyes dark with lust.  "So drive, _lyubimiy moy_ ," Salem smirked before dragging his pierced tongue over Bailey's aching cock; Bailey groaned and closed his eyes, yelping when Salem nipped the head, ordering, "Eyes on the road, Arthur."

Bailey forced his head and eyes straight, driving carefully down the road and turning onto his street like he was an 80-year-old with bad eyesight and no laser like focus. The drive from his home in Hampstead from his captain's in Primrose Hill was twelve minutes but seemed like an eternity between stoplights, too many goodbyes, and the way that Salem had unzipped Bailey's fly, had his dick out while Salem's mouth on it within seconds of Bailey turning the key in the ignition and driving out of the driveway.

Salem was a freak.

Period.

A freak with an exhibitionist streak that put even Cris Emerson's shameless to boyfriend out to dry, because God forbid Bailey got pulled over or got into an accident because his male friend's mouth was wrapped around his dick.  The rags would absolutely riot over the rights to that story, and right about now, with Bailey panting and fighting the overwhelming need to cant his hips up into Salem's hot mouth teetering on the edge of release, he really couldn't care less.

The sight of his driveway was a relief, and the knowledge that Kanani would be going straight from visiting her family in Hawaii to do a shoot for Covergirl in Japan put his mind at ease.

Whipping into the driveway in a single jerky, reckless move, Bailey turned the car of hastily, unbuckling his seat belt and thrusting up, hitting the back of Salem's throat without warning.  Salem grunted but didn't pull away, humming in a way that sent vibrations through Bailey's rock hard dick. A loud moan tore out of him, and he tipped his head back, hips moving, cock pounding into Salem's mouth.

"Fuck," Bailey forced out, "I'm gonna cum."

Salem laughed but didn't pull back as Bailey came almost violently, Salem swallowing him down effortlessly, pulling off to smirk at Salem with both of them breathing heavily. Bailey yanked Salem's head to him, slamming their mouths together, humming as he tasted himself on Salem's tongue, muttering into his mouth, "Get out of the car."

Grinning, Salem yanked open the door and slid out while Bailey struggled to tuck his already resurrecting dick––God, it was sometimes good to be an eighteen year old––back into his pants and zipping them up as best he could before following Salem. Coming up behind him, Bailey pressed his front against Salem's back, wrapping one arm around his waist while the other struggled to get the key in the door.  Salem's head tipped back onto Bailey's shoulder as he pressed open mouth kisses to the column of his throat.

Finally, the door gave, and Salem spun around, yanking Bailey inside and kicking the door shut a moment before he slammed him back into it, lips immediately on Bailey's, giving him a deep hungry kiss as his hands moved over Bailey's chest, tweaking his nipples beneath his shirt.  Bailey cried out while Salem reached down, yanking Bailey's shirt up and over his head, tossing it away and pressing his body more firmly against Bailey's. Salem trailed wet kisses up his neck, biting his earlobe and whispering, "You know you're a control freak, right?"

Fisting his hand in Salem's hair, Bailey pulled his head back, and Salem licked his lips, watching Bailey through hooded, heated eyes, "Do you ever shut up?"

Salem laughed as their lips fused back together, mouths moving against each other and tongues warring as Bailey guided Salem across the room.  He eyed the stairs as he pushed off Salem's jacket, yanking his shirt over his head and dropping it onto the floor.  Salem's hands went to the button of Bailey's jeans, shaking his head as he nipped Bailey's collar bone, "Don't think it about it, _lyubimiy_.  I won't make it."  He yanked Bailey's jeans down in a single motion, and Bailey kicked them off.

Bailey ran his hands up Salem's chest, tugging lightly on his pierced nipples and smirking when moaned huskily eyes falling shut; Bailey took advantage and wrapped his arms around Salem's neck, pulling him into a heated, sensuous kiss, both of them groaning as their bare heated skin slid against each other.  His sensitive, already stirring cock rubbed against the denim of Salem's jeans.  Bailey moaned, yanking on Salem's hair, "Why do you still have pants on?"

"God, you're so demanding," Salem feigned irritation even as a sultry smile slid across his lips, and he complied, sliding off his skinny jeans with ease that bordered on unnatural, kicking his shoes and pants off to the side, smirk growing as Bailey's eyes trailed over his body, taking in every inch of his porcelain skin decorated with a whole arm tattooed in typical Japanese artwork and tattoo characters, the head of the giant phoenix and dragon back tattoo that peek over his shoulder, the Geisha pin-up on his bicep, the Japanese and Russian characters trailing up the bone of his arm, and a realistic snow leopard on his side.  Both nipples pierced and the head of his penis, Salem was full of surprises, surprises Bailey couldn't deny that he enjoyed a whole hell of a lot.

"I _really_ want to fuck you," Bailey admitted almost pleadingly.

Laughing and smiling seductively at Bailey, he stepped up into his personal space, one hand trailing down over his chest to grip his cock in his hand.  Bailey gasped and dropped his head onto Salem's shoulder while the older man pressed a kiss to Bailey's temple, "I don't thin you're ready for that, but you're definitely getting there."

Without a word of warning, Salem spun Bailey around, one hand pushing on his couch on all fours while he knelt behind, cock rubbing between Bailey's cheek and causing him to shutter, breath catching, "Condom?"

"Does it matter?"

Salem choked, " _Really_?  You're a manslut, yes."

"No, I get checked out every month," Bailey pressed back against Salem who hissed in a breath, hands gripping Bailey's hips tightly, though he didn't stop him from rocking back into him.  "And, like you said, I'm a control freak who doesn't let anyone fuck me.  So, shouldn't I be asking _you_ that question?"

Leaning down, Salem pressed a kiss to Bailey's spine, and Bailey's eyes slipped closed automatically, head dropping between his arms, hips still rocking back into Salem's dick. "Lube?  And yes, that _does_ matter."

Bailey's lips twitched up in a smile as he inclined his head towards the coffee table. There was a paused as Salem reached over and grabbed the lube sitting on the coffee table.

"Someone was confident they were getting laid tonight."

"I was right wasn't I? Now can you please just––?" Bailey didn't even get a chance to finish bitching before Salem was lubed up and sheathing himself balls deep in Bailey.

His breath caught, and Salem grabbed a handful of hair and yanked back, Bailey groaning and writhing like a whore.  _Not too far from the truth,_ he thought to himself. Salem draped himself over Bailey's back, pulling out and rolled back into him, yanking a throat moan from Bailey as he whispered in his ear, "You were saying?"

But Bailey couldn't _say_ anything because in the next moment, Salem had pulled back out and shoved backed into his tight heat, going deeper and deeper each time as Bailey arched, panting and moaning. "Faster," Bailey ordered, and Salem laughed but complied, pounding into him ruthlessly. His arms gave out from exertion, and Bailey fell forward onto his forearms, back arching and head still held in Salem's grip.

The position sent Salem deeper, slamming into Bailey's prostate and sending an intense explosion of pleasure through his body.  His toes curled as he shifted, reaching behind him to wrap his arms around Salem's neck and pulling him into a wet, hot kiss, groaning into Salem's mouth as Salem continued to drive into him ruthlessly.  Their tongues danced together, sliding and stroking.  His muscles tightened and contracting around Salem's cock, and Salem cursed in Russian.

"I'm gonna cum, Bailey."

"Then fucking do it," he panted.

Salem's hips snapped, driving his cock deeper into Bailey, slamming against his prostate. Bailey screamed and came violently, simultaneously with Salem who shouted Bailey's name as he came deep inside Bailey, both of them panting into each other's mouths and rocking together.  When they finally broke their kiss, Salem shifted to sit back on his heels, wrapping his arms around Bailey's waist, helping him shift to sit astride him, spent cock still buried in his ass, and Bailey's head resting on Salem's shoulder as he pressed a kiss to the underside of Salem's jaw.

Salem hummed, "We're actually gonna do that again, right?  You're not going to do the self-righteous denial bullshit."

Bailey sighed, running his hand over Salem's thigh while the other twisted up to run through his hair. "I don't do relationships, Salem. I _can't_.  And you don't do casual."

There was a moment of silence before Salem spoke haltingly, "I'd do casual for you."

Shifting to look up at Salem's profile, Bailey startled as a slow smile started to spread across his face, "Really?  You'll give up your good Christian boy chastity for me?"

Salem slapped his ass, and Bailey gave an aroused shout, arching against Salem who tsked at him, "Shut the fuck up.  Or I'm gonna leave before you get this ass."

His lips curled up as he nipped the hollow of Salem's throat and whispered against the heated skin, "Not fucking likely.  Now, can we take this bed or are we going to do this right here, again?"

"Fucking teenagers," Salem replied, lifting Bailey off his lap while Bailey laughed. Like he seriously had a problem with Bailey's overactive libido.

In the words of Salem: shut the fuck up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you thought I forgot about you...and I kind of did. My apologies. Here's what's going to happen, I'm going to try to get all the chapters I've written up here today (it may not happen but I'm going to try), and I'm going to NY for a couple days and then moving into my dorm in London and then I've got two orientations in two weeks and the start of class so I'm going to try to keep on writing this but it will definitely be a couple weeks until I can start writing this story again. I've got a lot going on but I'm going to try to finish this story within this year. Thanks for sticking with it.  
> Anyway, Bailey and Salem are definitely not as cutesy as Irial and Crispin, they're a lot more intense, but I love these two characters because as much as I'm so not a fan of writing sex scenes (I do love to read them though) these two make it so damn easy and...I've kind of always wanting to write a bj in a moving vehicle and I finally have...that came out awkwardly...*hides under covers* "Don't look at me!"


	13. "Compass" by Lady Antebellum

**Arthur Bailey's fairytale romance fizzled out?**

Kanani Kapuana, 22 year old girlfriend of Arsenal's young star forward, Arthur Bailey, confirmed via Twitter that she is, in fact, moving.  The almost unbelievable fairytale romance began a little over a year ago after the pair met during a team fundraiser with the model moving into his million dollar house in Hampstead not long after.  Over a year of dating and the pair are going their separate ways, though neither Kapuana nor Bailey have confirmed or commented on speculation about the reasons behind the apparent split. A source close to the star footie player says, "He [Bailey] still talks to her [Kapuana] pretty regularly. He's even helping her more into her new flat so it's hardly an ugly break up.  They argue about her dog, but they're still friends." Sad news doe everyone hoping for a wedding between the two young media darlings, but good news is that both Kapuana, who plans to walk in Paris Fashion Week, and Bailey, whose playing only seems to be improving, aren't letting their split impact their careers.

 

**Text message from Kanani to Bailey**

**Kanani:** Apparently Ive been dumped

**Bailey:** Sux. I thght u & riley were cute 2gthr

**Kanani:**...by u :/

**Bailey:** oooooo...its not u, its me

**Kanani:** Actually, i think its mutual

**Bailey:** Was tht ur admittance 2 being a lesbo :O

**Kanani:** Dont push it asshole.

 

To: [**rabslocket96@gmail.com.uk**](mailto:rabslocket96@gmail.com.uk)

Cc: [**theharleenquinzel@gmail.com.pk**](mailto:theharleenquinzel@gmail.com.pk); [**crawfishdane1017@gmail.com.uk**](mailto:crawfishdane1017@gmail.com.uk)

From: [**theghostsofsalem@gmail.com**](mailto:theghostsofsalem@gmail.com)

Subject: RE: Presentation preparations

Yeah, you make a good point. We can hammer out last minute details from the slideshow presentation and figure out presentation details Saturday at brunch, but we'll have to hold off on a formal run through. I'm moving out and in Saturday and Sunday.

Salem

 

**Text message from Bailey to Salem**

**Bailey:** U gonna b there sat?

**Salem:** sat?

**Bailey:** sigh smartass. Saturday.

**Salem:** Of course, someone has to do the heaving lifting.

**Bailey:** Excuse me arse? C if u get shagged this wknd

**Salem:** Who was even talking about you?

**Salem:** I've got Emperor Bastian and Queen Georgia over here.

**Salem:** Does that mean no christening my new apartment?

**Bailey:** Dpnds...will u tlk dirty 2 me in Japanese?

**Salem:** I can do that :3

* * *

A pair of blue eyes stared wide-eyed at him from the doorway.  He shifted awkwardly and cleared his throat, which seemed to snap to gaping chick out of it as she gasped, "Oh my _God_ , you're Arthur Bailey."

Yes, yes he was. That was a thing he couldn't change, even when he wanted to at times like this…or times _sort of_ like this.  He'd been fortunate enough never to have _this_ particular experience before, and Bailey could have lived his whole life like that.  Apparently, though, that stupid Cocker Spaniel named after a really pathetic young adult supernatural series hadn't cared one wit about Bailey's sensibilities.

Wishing almost desperately that he could crawl into a hole in ground and just die a little bit, Bailey cleared his throat nervously and nodded his head once.  "Um…yeah," the tiny blond girl just seemed to preen right there in the door way, and Bailey swallowed, really, seriously hoping someone would save him before she offered the proposition he could see rising in her.  "I'm actually looking for––"

" _There_ you are!" Kanani called out from behind the girl who stepped out of his way, thankfully.

Bailey maneuvered carefully inside, making sure not even to _accidentally_ brush up against Barbie over here for fear of what would happen.  He raised his eyebrows at Kanani  in booty shorts, a skin-tight camisole, and a thin layer of sweat covering her skin. Where the hell had she even found an activity to make her sweat?  Bailey had arrived to find her roommate and Salem's Cajun friend, Max, moving all of her stuff from the small moving van illegally parked out front _alone_ and had stopped to help him.  And Kanani had been _here_ doing… _what_ exactly?

"Yeah," Bailey nodded slowly, "I said I come.  I did. I'm here already working while you've been up here doing what exactly?"

She huffed, "Moving."

"Moving what?" His eyes scanned the interior of the flat with a blank face.  It was suddenly no mystery why Salem had been so desperate to move. From what he knew about his friend, Salem like simple, contemporary but not cold, and muted colors that didn't overwhelm him.  _This_ was not _that_.  This flat was loud and take charge and made party buses look classy.  The tacky part of the Jersey Shore had thrown up all over the inside of this flat and apparently hadn't stopped since.  He shuttered.

"Salem's shit."

_That_ got Bailey's attention.

"What?" He asked, dumbfounded. Salem was particular about his stuff; Bailey was a control freak, Salem had pieces of equipment in every pocket, section in his wallet, and sole of his shoe like at any moment he might have a creative idea and just feel the need to tinker with it.  Bailey highly doubt he wanted anyone touching his stuff. "Does he know you're touching all of his belongings?"

Kanani sighed dramatically, "It's all boxed up, Bailey.  No need to have a heart attack, and I need the space so Bas and I have been moving everything to the hallway.  Besides, he'd know if he was _here_."

"If who was here?" A familiar voice said from the doorway, and Bailey turned around to meet Salem's wide, expectant jade eyes with a roguish smile only Max saw as he came up behind him.

The Cajun hummed thoughtfully as he looked between the two of them, resting an arm on Salem's shoulder and slapping the side of his head with the back of his hand.  Salem tore his gaze away from Bailey and rolled his lip ring between his teeth as he looked around expectantly.

"What's the problem?"

"Bailey was being overprotective of your need to personal privacy, which I don't think you have when people are moving and you're not present." Kanani elucidated while Bailey rolled his eyes.

Salem blinked at her, "Are you saying you touched my shit?"

"It's all boxed up, and, like I've been saying, you weren't here."

"I was at a business brunch not taking a Sunday a stroll, and I didn't mean that you could use that time to work Max like a dog while you––" Salem cut himself off, bowing his head like he was praying before looking up with a sigh and nodding, "You know what?  Forget it. It's done.  I trust Bastian didn't break anything."

"I didn't!" Bastian yelled out cheerfully while Bailey peered around Kanani to see the minuscule Caroline Bonfils look alike grinning broadly.

"Good," Salem forced himself to nod, looking almost in pain; Bailey stifled a smile, looking between everyone's guilty faces.  _Damn, Salem's good_.  "Great.  Then, Bailey, you want to help me get…"

"Yeah," Bailey took the hint, walking out in front of Salem who closed the door behind them. He grabbed Bailey's hand and led him down the stairs, stopping at the next landing and leaning his head back against the wall, Bailey hand still in his.

Bailey watched him silently as he tried to steady his breathing, before stepping closer to him, running a hand over his cheekbone and into his hair.  Salem hummed and smiled slightly, body relaxing as Bailey cupped the side of his face.  "I thought it was fine."

Salem scoffed, "I don't have a lot of shit, but what I have is mine, you know?  And delicate.  I don't want to have to kill someone for breaking something."

"Oh, is that it?"

"Yeah, that's it."

Now it was Bailey turned to scoff while Salem's lips curled into a smile, and he tipped his head back. Taking the invitation, Bailey leaned forward and pressed their lips together lightly, teasingly while Salem growled at him, grabbing Bailey's neck and yanking him forward into a kiss far too heated and far too dirty to be engaging in on the landing in his building, a fact that didn't faze Bailey in the slight as his mouth opened under Salem's, letting their tongues tangle together as his thumbs rubbed lazy circles into Salem's hips.

It had been a week since they'd practically evacuated from Bakar's party like they had the hounds of hell nipping at their heels, a week since they'd shagged in probably every room in Bailey's house, and other than that, nothing had changed, which both thrilled and terrified Bailey who felt less secure and more like he was perpetually waiting for the other shoe to drop.

They hadn't seen each other since Salem was back to school full time and finishing up last minute details for his technology presentation that he couldn't talk about without nearly having a panic attack, and Bailey was back to his weekday routine of breakfast, running, working out, lunch, practice, and dinner.  They'd talked on the phone and texted with the same frequency as before and with the same amount of innuendo, which said all it needed to about their formerly so-called platonic friendship.  It was exactly what Bailey had said he wanted, a sort of easy friends with benefits thing, and yet it bothered him.

The whole thing.

Right down to Salem's easy acceptance of their whole arrangement.

Was that really all Salem wanted from him?  Was he just placating him?  What? And he could hardly ask as _he_ was the one who'd agreed to the whole arrangement in the first place.  Exactly seven days ago so he had no business pot stirring already.  Best to just see how everything would go, wait it out, especially since Salem would be leaving in July and the last thing Bailey wanted to do was fuck up something he so desperately wanted when they only had six more months to enjoy it.

Bailey pulled back, smiling when Salem whined in frustration; leaning forward, he gave him another peck. He pushed Salem's hips, pressing him back against the wall and keeping space between them so Bailey didn't do something stupid like ravage him against the wall of his apartment building. That was both an attractive idea and as potentially dangerous as Salem's ingenious plan to give Bailey on a blowjob on the road while they were driving.

The difference was that Bailey had cultivated some kind of self-control even as damaged as it was around Salem.

"You know," Bailey said softly, his tone nauseatingly flirtatious, "we can't actually christen your flat until we finish moving all Kanani's shit in here."

Salem huffed, tossing his bangs out of his eyes and whining, "Have you _seen_ how much shit she has? That could take all day."

Shrugging, Bailey leaned forward, pressing their bodies together to give Salem a long, lingering kiss that Salem groaned into, wrapping his arms around Bailey's neck. Bailey nipped at Salem's earlobe, tugging on the dreamcatcher earring hanging from it and whispering in his ear, "You know, I'm only playing at Emirates tomorrow, so I do actually have all night."

Arms still wrapped loosely around Bailey's neck, Salem leaned his head back against the wall and smiled sensuously at him, "Yeah?"

Someone cleared their throat behind them, and Bailey jumped back, startled, while Salem just smiled cheerfully at the unimpressed Cajun staring on the last step, arms crossed over his chest and eyebrows raised at the pair of them.  "What's going on _here_?"

It was a question with an edge, and Bailey flushed while Salem shook his head, "Get your mind out of the gutter.  We were just talking."

Max rolled his eyes skeptically, "With you lips and bodies?  Yeah, I see it."  He brushed passed them, yelling over his shoulder, "Get better at hiding your amorous intention, boys!"

Bailey blushed, and Salem laughed, patting his cheek as he walked by.

He was such a cunt sometimes.

* * *

Bailey side-eyed the remaining slice of pizza in the box like a detoxing junkie sitting in front of his next fix and contemplating whether or not he should go for it. He had a game tomorrow so, no, he probably _shouldn't_ go for it, especially as he and Salem had effectively reduced a large pizza, garlic rolls, and a whole cheesecake to a single slice, a puddle of garlic butter, and crumbs respectively.  And _he had a game tomorrow_.  The water he'd gone for instead of coke could hardly make up for the pounds of complex carbs he'd poisoned his body with already, and fuck if he didn't sound like an anorexic bird even to himself.

Salem sighed dramatically, "Just eat it, Arthur, it's just a slice of pizza."

"It's off my nutrition plan," he argued, even as he reached for it.

Smiling up from where he'd spread across the floor with his head resting on Bailey thigh, Salem answered, "I'll help you work it off."

Bailey rolled his eyes, _what a saint._   He bit into the slice and picked the excess mozzarella that had stuck to the box, feeding it to Salem who hummed gratefully, eyes still closed. Leaning back against the couch, Bailey narrowed his eyes on the _Ladies of London_ marathon playing across the screen and sighed, Salem's lips twitching as if he knew exactly what was going through Bailey's head.

The studio flat Salem had sublet from someone he knew from King's was tiny and had come hideously furnished.  The flat in its entirety could fit comfortably in Bailey's living room, but it hadn't even remotely seemed to faze Salem.  Bailey, on the other hand, hadn't been in a living space this small since boarding school, and he'd been entirely comfortable with things remaining that way. Of course, he'd adjust for Salem's sake, but he couldn't help pointing out the hideousness of the furniture.

"Yeah," Salem laughed, "now I know why Yolanda wouldn't let him bring anything."

"Right. How long have they been dating?"

"Three months." Bailey gaped down at Salem who shrugged, "It's not _my_ relationship, and I've got an apartment so…"

Bailey snorted, finishing his pizza as his eyes scanned the expanse of hideous furniture that looked like it had been bought at a sketchy home good barn for less than a pound and boxes that were stacked and scattered, some half open.  "Because the furniture really _is_ grotesque."

"I can make do unlike you because you're posh."

He shrugged, not denying the playful accusation.

"You grew up in the lap of luxury, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Bailey replied in a tone that bordered on acidic while Salem tilted his head back, raising his eyebrows at Bailey.

Regardless of money, he'd hardly had an idyllic childhood, and while he didn't know much about Salem's other than that his mother's family was Russian, his father was Japanese, and they'd never been married or had a united home, Salem hadn't grown up with a silver spoon in his mouth or as stable a home as Bailey's.  But, Salem was close to his mother, had a relationship with his father and his father's family, and clearly was much better adjusted than Bailey was regardless of not having a monetary fallback.

Bailey sighed as he looked down and met Salem's questioning gaze; he shook his head and carded his fingers through Salem's hair, "Money isn't everything."

Salem's eyes softened in understand even as he joked, "Way to be cliché, Bailey."

Biting his lip, he shrugged, eyes drifting up to the television where he scowled, "Why the fuck do you watch this shit?"

"To laugh at the stupid shit they say and to better appreciate my life.  Like I'm hella glad I'm not dating a gold-digger or being an adult that acts like a two year old and still wants to parade around like I'm better than everyone else."

"You realize _these_ women live here," Bailey remarked pointedly.

He pursed his lips and sat up, straddling Bailey's lap and wrapping his arms around his neck, Bailey's hands going to his hips automatically.  Salem cocked his head, "You know any of them?"

Bailey's hands skimmed up Salem's sides to his ribcage and behind him, fingers lightly trailing his spine. Salem shivered, and Bailey narrowed his eyes on the television.  "Some of them. Mostly the newer cast additions, actually.  And they're just as ridiculous off camera."  Salem nodded and leaned forward to press a kiss to Bailey's collarbone. "I've met Caroline. She's _everywhere_ for someone who pretends to hate the press, it's hard _not_ to meet her.  Annabelle and Caprice I met through Kanani. They're both pretty inundated in the fashion industry."

"That's nice," Salem licked up Bailey's throat, and Bailey groaned, tipping his head back, "but you could shut up any time now."

"You asked me a question."

"You didn't _have_ to answer it when you could doing much more exciting things with you mouth."

"I'm a good boy. I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Bailey remarked breathily, as Salem shifted, kissing lower before sucking on one of Bailey's nipples.  His mouth dropped open, backing arching.

Salem nipped the hard nub in his mouth before retorting dryly, "Yes, the press does seem to think so, don't they?  What do you think they'd say if they saw you like this?"

"Who the fuck cares?" Bailey ground out while Salem laughed and attached his mouth to the other nipple.  He arched under Salem. "You gonna watch my game tomorrow?"

_That_ got Salem's attention.  And he shifted to sit back, eyes searching Bailey's gaze with an intensity that made Bailey bit the inside of his cheek and look down, pulling his hands off of Salem to twist them nervously in his lap.  "Yeah," Salem said finally, and Bailey's eyes shifted up in surprise, biting his lip to hide his happiness.  He gave Bailey a lopsided smile, scooting closer to him until their bare chests were pressed against each other, his hands running up and over Bailey's skin and leaving behind a trail of goosebumps that made Bailey shiver. "You have to look so terrified all the time.  There's not a lot I'd say no to."

Biting his bottom lip, Bailey peered at Salem from beneath his eyelashes, hesitating just slightly before saying, "You could come.  To the game."

Salem narrowed his eyes thoughtfully on Bailey, running his fingers through Bailey's hair before asking, "Do you want me to?"

"Yes," Bailey admitted in a harsh whisper.

Nodding, Salem leaned forward to press their lips together, answering against his lips, "Okay, then."


	14. "We Run The Night" by Havana Brown ft. Pitbull

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

So this is me watching the Aston Villa v Arsenal match alone for the first time #ImReady

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

...and this is me making friends with the enemy. Hello seat neighbor @RudiTheReindeer

 

**Another win for Arsenal**

Arsenal's January 9 game against Aston Villa marked another win for the London based team.  With exemplary goalkeeping from Carey Ahearn (51), excellent leadership from Captain Bakar Bengochea (4), and strokes of brilliant playmaking from Arthur Bailey (21), the team is climbing the ranks having won 17 of their last 20 games. The rockstar young forward shows no signs of favoritism from officials and a breakup with longtime girlfriend, Kanani Kapuana, playing an impeccable, heart stopping game against Aston Villa, scoring both of the team's goals and proving his versatility by helping out an overwhelmed defense last in the first half.

 

**Text message from Salem to Bailey**

**Salem:** I'm bored.

**Bailey:** & ur txting me as opposed to reading slash ff?

**Salem:** How do you even know what that is?

**Bailey:** U left it up on my browser Mon.

**Salem:** Figured. And I read all the good McDanno, SebaCiel, Toothcup, Larry Stylinson, Sterek, and Crisial fanfic. Help me!

**Bailey:** U need a life & i had practice.

**Salem:** You suck :(

**Bailey:** We already established that.

**Salem:** ;)

 

**Carey Ahearn (@carey_me_home)**

Away game roadtrip to Stoke City & Im bored @ArthurBailey @Rafa86 are sleeping :(

 

**Text message from Salem to Bailey**

**Salem:** I watched...sorry, you played great.

**Bailey:** :) thx

**Bailey:** Ill b home @15:00

**Salem:** I'll be there. With takeout. Not Asian, fyi. Dont argue.

 

To: [**rabslocket96@gmail.com.uk**](mailto:rabslocket96@gmail.com.uk); [**crawfishdane1017@gmail.com.uk**](mailto:crawfishdane1017@gmail.com.uk); [**theharleenquinzel@gmail.com.pk**](mailto:theharleenquinzel@gmail.com.pk)

From: [**theghostsofsalem@gmail.com**](mailto:theghostsofsalem@gmail.com)

Subject: This is it

Just a reminder to meet at the corporate office at 16:45 for Nicholas Ryder. Dress professional.

* * *

 

BlueCrest's corporate office made Salem feel as uncomfortable as the Apple store, everything about it was gloss and glass, shimmer and shine, decorated and contemporary and way too contrived…kind of like Bailey's house to be honest, but Salem would work on that. Plus, after being introduced to Bailey's personal space by stripping him in the foyer and fucking him on his couch, the too perfect, frigid interior design hardly provided much intimidation.

 These offices were different.

Money intimidated Salem more than anything else, which was why he'd always been so abysmal at finance. It may have had something to do with how he'd grown up.  His mother had been the child of immigrants who'd been comfortable but not necessarily 'well off', and his mother had made a decent amount of money but they'd preferred to spend it on Salem's private school education, hobbies, and vacations, which they took frequently.  Even as his father's side, the Kimura family came from the foothills of the mountains and were farmers and soldiers, his father having eventually joined the Navy and made that his career.

Fancy schmancy didn't sit well with him and it never had and probably never would.  Bailey was clearly one of those people who'd grown up in money and needed to be surrounded by luxury.  But BlueCrest was an imposing and grandiose that crossed the line over into pompous dangerously.  Salem didn't like it as much as he knew he'd have to deal in order to present what he promised to and get the money he'd need to start up his business.

He felt naked, though. Probably because he _was_ for all intents and purposes, having dyed his hair completely black for the occasion and tied it back into a low ponytail that almost made him look professional and presentable with his hair gelled back and all of his piercings with the exception of a network of tiny studs in his ear having been removed.  Salem hadn't quite been able to pull himself into a suit, but he _had_ bought a nice pair of black skinny jeans devoid of any rips and borrowed a suit jacket and button-up shirt from Bailey.

The Vans, though, the Vans had stayed.

Regulus arrived with Dane in tow looking exactly like Christian Grey whereas Dane had cleaned up to looked like the sharp marketing executive he'd always wanted to be. Dane raised his eyebrows at Salem while Regulus didn't even flinch as his eyes roved over Salem, promptly declaring, "Good."

"Good?" Dane balked, shooting Regulus an incredulous glance.  "How is that good?  He looks like a vagrant."

"A well-dressed, sexy vagrant," Harley said by way of greeting, strolling into the room in a jaw-dropping ensemble, hair pulled back into a tight high ponytail and looking shockingly killer in stilettos, a pencil skirt, and a chiffon blouse with a blazer pulled over it.  "And he's supposed to be an ingenious entrepreneurial tech mogul extraordinaire, not a lawyer."  She pauses and pursed her lips together, pointing a manicured fingernail at Regulus, "Right?"

"Right," Regulus nodded in confirmation before looking to Dane.  "You didn't honestly expect him to come dressed in a suit and tie, surely?"

Dane sighed and put an exasperated hand to his head, "I'd hoped."

Harley tsked, and Regulus just looked utterly disappointed in him as he turned to Salem. "I just hoped you'd bring everything."

Salem frowned at him, not even remotely amused, and kicked the backpack on the ground at his feet lightly.  He'd been in charge of bringing all the prototypes while Regulus had worked with Harley and Dane on last minute fixes to their respective slides and put it on a flashdrive for the presentation.  And it had been decided without Salem's knowledge or consent to use _his_ personal laptop, his _personally crafted not a prototype_ laptop not his overpriced, underutilized MacBook pro (always a sore spot with his mother that laptop).

Hell if he didn't love his laptop, which had been specially designed to be his sounding board and test center for his software.  It was already leagues ahead of anything on the market including Salem's own prototypes. The thing was the Jarvis to his Tony Stark only it didn't talk or have intensely crazy AI programming that made it nearly sentient.  What it _did_ have was just about everything else.  The whole thing was a screen, right down to the keyboard that could bend wherever as opposed to being limited by a hinge.  It could fold down into 17" by 29" full table mat that could self-support if it hug off the end of a table and had a finger touch recognition so that when he wrote on it he could rest the side of his hand on it without concern. Web cameras on every side so no matter how he opened it, he could video chat, almost completely folded in half and had a zipper since he'd mounted it in a padded, built-in case with breathable but water proof fiber (that had been expensive but worth every penny), and had the beginnings of his tinkering with holographic imagining. Plus it was web-enabled, app accessible and compatible to the Apple store and Google plus with A/V jacks, USB ports, and had two card slots for camera memory cards.

The thing was amazing. He was a proud mama bear.

_And_ it helped that when it got hinky, he could fix it up no problem. It tended to double as his table since he could disable part of the screen, flip it around, and zip it up to make a tablet…a table less than two pounds and only three quarters of an inch thick. Sometimes, Salem even outdid _himself_.

"And your laptop?" Regulus asked point blank.

 Salem sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, "Yes, even my baby came to the party."

"It would be great if we could give the presentation using your holographic imaging." Harley started carefully while Salem glares at her.  She raised her hands in surrender, "I'm just saying."

"You should 'just say' a little less," Salem remarked.  "If we show them the holograph, they'll expect and demand us to put out a product featuring that.  I'd really love to start with what we have, move on to sci-fi inspired semi-transparent devices and then go to holographic so I'll have time to perfect everything."

"Oh, is that all?" Harley asked sarcastically.

He shrugged, "Nah. I also want to find a way to make flashdrives obsolete, simplify mass virtual storage like the Cloud into something more accessible and understandable, and basically figure out a way to power my coffee machine from my bedroom and automatically have my home turn up the heat before I have to try to mosey my way out of bed in arctic temperatures."

Dane snorted, "Oh, that's it then?  Great. On the plus side, my job is easy. Your shit basically markets itself. Like the Cube? Have I mentioned how much I love the Cube?"

"Just every time we went into a meeting since he made you one," Harley sighed.

Regulus laughed, "Well, at least we know his products will sell, between Dane and his brother and his mother.  My grandmother wants one of the readers.  There's definitely a base of consumer that is annoyed by inconveniences that our technological age should have moved passed already."

"Like my cat chewing the wire on my Beats headphones."

Salem blinked at him, "Your headphones have wires?  Why haven't you just been using the wireless buds I gave you for the Cube? They're bluetooth enabled. You can use them for the tablet I made for you."

"You made him a _tablet_ too?" Regulus balked, frowning at a sheepish Dane.

"My iPad crapped out on me."

Harley huffed, "I hope he paid for it."

Dane scowled, "All £250. There goes my student loans, but I have no regrets.  I used it to take notes in class yesterday and my handwriting was legible and the screen didn't change sizes a million times when the side of my hand rubbed on it. It was fantastic."

Beaming impishly, Salem nodded, "Thank you very much."

"No, no, thank _you_ ," someone said from behind , and they all turned to see a well-dressed man in an Armani suit with salt and pepper gray hair, peering at them from behind the lenses of his Dolce and Gabbana shades.

Salem pursed his lips and pointed at him, "Let me guess: Nicholas Ryder?"

"You would be correct," Nicholas smiled kindly.

"And we kind of just blew our presentation, huh?"

Nicholas shrugged, "Well, the element of surprise has certainly been dampened, but I'm sure I'll make do by looking at your project sales."  He stepped back, holding the door to the conference room open, "Come on and let's have a chat, yeah?  Because I'm really dying to know about this mysterious cube now."

Smiling, Salem swallowed hard and nodded, tossing the backpack over his shoulder and loping into the room.

* * *

 

"And Salem's _face_. It was _priceless_."

"Not as priceless as Ryder's when he saw Salem's prototypes."

"Or afterwards when he realized what the fuck was up with Salem's computer."

Harley, Regulus, and Dane cracked up while Salem nodded his head and accepted his roasting with a smile, knowing tomorrow started the hardcore work.  They'd be building a website, started a Twitter to get across information, sitting down with the electronics manufacturer, marketing, marketing, marketing, meeting with a lawyer, and watching all that money BlueCrest had agreed to shell out for their start-up go right down the drain.

And patents.

Fuck all the patents.

"So…" Bastian frowned, brandishing his half-empty glass of dry martini, "I guess that means it went well then, _non_?"

" _Oui, oui!_ " Harley giggled drunkenly, "It went _amazing_ because Salem is a genius!"

Regulus laughed and Dane cheered, both of them holding up their glasses, clinking them together while Salem rolled his eyes and shook his head but accepted the cheers wordlessly. Clapping, they downed their drinks while Salem looked over at Max who raised his eyebrows, throwing an arm over Salem's shoulders.

"And your Visa?"

Salem shrugged, "I've got some time to think about it.  Professor Mulbery and Nicholas—that's the hedge fund guy—are gonna discuss options with me.  I mean, I'd rather not move to England, but it's not totally outside the realm of possibility.  You and Bastian are gonna be moving back to France so that you can intern under that awesome fashion photog guy, and he got that internship working for the Louvre. Who knows what Georgia's gonna do? Maybe backpack through Europe in her Coach shoes and Betsey Johnson backpack."

"To be fair," Max interrupted, "Kanani got that for her from a go-see."

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't just say go-see."

"As long as you're also pretending you don't marathon enough _America's Next Top Model_ to know exactly what that is."

Salem pursed his lips but waved a hand and continued.  "I always planned on going back to Boston, finishing MIT, and living in Atlanta so I could see my mom when she stopped in for layovers or maybe California so she wouldn't have to split time between Damien and me. London was never in the cards."

Max frowned at him, eyes shifting from where Harley, Dane, and Regulus were still holding court with Bastian, Kanani, and Georgia listening along with Dane's current date—who was notably _not_ his girlfriend, Gloria, and Regulus's two close friends and roommates, Javier Gonzalez and Felicia Kemper. Charlie had shown up alone only to have Patrick stroll in like clockwork with Evelyn on his arm, which had devolved Charlie's mood considerably.  Salem was amazed Charlie had even wandered far enough away from him that Patrick could try to hold a conversation with him.  It wasn't working, but he certainly _had_ attempted.

Max cocked his head and raised his eyebrows at Salem.  "Do you want to stay?"

"I don't know." Salem admitted, trading his celebratory glass of champagne that he'd accepted from Regulus to be a good sport for his telltale glass of Guinness.  "I know I won't be alone.  Kanani and Charlie are in and out.  Patrick's here most of the time, and he's good people when he's not being an ass, at least he'll skateboard and go to concerts with me.  You and Bastian are a car ride away.  Mom can come visit.  Michi wants to visit me over the summer and might be touring eastern Europe next year."

"Bailey."

"I mean," he floundered for a minute but didn't deny it, "yeah.  Bailey."

"No, I mean _Bailey_."

Max turned Salem's head manually in the direction of the soccer star picking his way through the crowd with the ease of someone who'd spent a lot of time in bars but with the sheepish, uncomfortable expression of someone that didn't particularly _enjoy_ his time in them. Salem grinned at him, and Bailey looked up, tipped over his own feet, and looked down at the ground, flushing and smiling slightly as he made his way over.

Stopping right in front of Salem, Bailey bit the inside of his cheek and peered up at him from underneath his eyelashes, looking timid and nervous and altogether too edible. Max shook his head and looked at the ceiling, clapping his hand on Salem's shoulder.  "I'm gonna go figure out what the fuck this Cube shit is."

Bailey frowned, glancing back at Max's retreating figure before turning to Salem, "What's a cube?"

"You came!"

Rolling his eyes, Bailey moved to sit on the stool next Salem, leaning back against the bar, "I do that all the time.  Why are you still surprised?"

Smiling, Salem patted Bailey's thigh, "Dirty.  Can't let me have my moment?"

"Thought that's what this whole thing was?"  Bailey smirked, tipping his head back to beam innocently at Salem.

"Shut the fuck up," Salem laughed just as Charlie sidled up, huffing as he ordered a straight vodka on the rocks.  Bailey and Salem shared a quick glance as Salem frowned at his friend, "Problem?"

Charlie took a long swallow of the vodka, slamming the glass down on the counter, "Like I really want to deal with his fucking arsehole girlfriend tonight.  I should have just taken the job and gone to shoot in fucking Australia when I had the chance.  Or Hawaii. Or New Zealand. Or _anything_ except being here. Can I move in with you?"

"No." Salem deadpanned while Bailey raised his eyebrows, looking between Salem and Charlie as Patrick came up to glare at Charlie, arms cross over his chest while Evelyn rolled her eyes behind him.

"Don't you think you've had enough?"

"Not even remotely," Charlie snapped back, tone nasty enough that even Salem was taken aback. Despite the 3,000 mile distance between them most of the time, Salem and Charlie had stayed close and in touch since the beginning of their friendship.  He knew that despite the cherubic, Australian surfer charm, Charlie was sharp as a whip, dangerously intelligent, and so controlled about his life that it would make Monk amazed.  Charlie was a dom in his everyday life if not necessarily in the bedroom, which, yes, Salem knew from experience.  He'd seen and experienced both directly and indirectly a lot of different sides of the child star turned screen god.  But the nastiness?  _That_ was new.

Patrick was unfazed. "Charlie."

Charlie clenched his teeth and turned to Salem, a hesitantly apologetic but desperate look lurking in the back of his eyes.  Salem nodded and reached over, pulling Charlie into a hug, discreetly pressing a kiss to his temple as he whispered, "Don't get into trouble, Chaz. No more kissing strange guys at bars."

Scoffing, Charlie gently shoved Salem away from him.  "I'm never gonna live that one down, am I?"  Salem shook his head and smiled while Charlie rolled his eyes and muttered, "I'm not _that_ drunk." Bailey's leg pressed against Salem's as he quietly ordered a coke, eyes noting Patrick's seething glower that made even Salem uncomfortable and it wasn't even directed at him. "Congratulations, Sale. Sorry I'm bailing on your big night."

"No big. We'll do froyo later. You can pay and make it up to me."

Charlie laughed, "Sure thing."  He paused, raised his eyebrows at Bailey, and said, "Bailey," in greeting. He didn't even glance at Patrick as he spun around and marched to the exit.  Patrick turned to follow him.

"Sure that's a good idea, Pat?"

Patrick paused before nodding, "Yeah."

Salem raised his eyebrows and turned to Bailey, opening his mouth to comment when someone said his name from behind.  He turned to find Rudi, his last Monday Arsenal game seat neighbor.  Rudi smirked, "Fancy seeing you again seat neighbor. You look—"

"I…yeah. Hey, Rudi." Rudi's eyes trailed over his body while Salem shifted awkwardly.

"This another one of your many, many friends, Sale?" Bailey drawled tonelessly from behind.

Salem turned to find Bailey regarding Rudi coldly.  He hesitated and glanced back to Rudi who had halted, his gaze locked on Bailey with an edge that bordered on hostile.  "You're Arthur Bailey."

"Yeah, I get that a lot."  He replied icily.

Nodding once, Salem shift his gaze back to Rudi who looked to Salem seeming to decide to ignore Bailey entirely, "I was just going.  Do you want to—?"

Bailey kicked Salem who grimaced and shook his head, "Can't.  Kinda _my_ celebration.  Where's the consideration?"

Rudi nodded, biting his bottom lip and reaching into his pocket for a card.  He handed it to Salem, "It's cool.  You should call me, though.  We can go out some time."  Salem nodded, trying to ignore the rising awkwardness as Rudi turned and left, disappearing with a crowd of his friends.

Salem turned to Bailey who glared at his retreating figure and sighed, "What?"

"He's a presumptuous tool."

"He's an Aston Villa fan."

"And you're a reality show freak.  I don't hate _you_."

Sighing, Salem raised his hands in defeat, "If you don't like him just say so."

Bailey shrugged, lifting his coke to his lips, "I don't like him."

"Okay then," Salem said, tossing the card into the trashcan behind the bar, earning a glare from the bartender.

Looking down at his coke, Bailey tried to hide a smile while Salem rolled his eyes. "So firstly, what is this Cube thing?"  Salem fished one out of his pocket and held it out for Bailey who oohed, frowning as he took it and peered at it like it was going to fall apart in his hands before he figured out how to flick it on, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he played with it.

_Adorable._

Salem was content to watch Bailey figure out the logistics until he paused and peered up at Salem looking like the little teenaged boy he actually _was_.  "What did you say you got funded for again?" Biting his bottom lip, Salem laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The interesting thing about this story is the Daiki Company. Obviously, I'm not involved in a start-up company or the consumer electronics industry or anything like that. I mean, I'm a totally Apple child. I just got a new iPhone and my first Macbook. I write almost everything on my iPad. I let my mom's boyfriend handle all my IT messes. I know NOTHING about computers so coming up with all the products for his company was probably the hardest part of writing this story, but it's interesting to write something so different from what I'm used to. And look at all that Charlie/Patrick drama. Someday, when I get a handle on their relationship, I'll write about them. I have plan of who I want to write about and they're definitely on the list along with a couple members from Azadi, Irial's ex-boyfriend whose history is so so shady, and Salem's k-popper brother, Michi. Just letting you know.


	15. "Best Song Ever" by One Direction

**The Daiki Company (@TheDaikiCo.)**

We're live on Twitter and our website's live online

 

**Natasha Petrovna (@Mama_Petrovna)**

Glad to see my lazy @Salem_Daiki has found something productive to do @TheDaikiCo.

 

**Charles Beck (@CharlieBeck)**

@StPatty_ @DorianII check out my boy @Salem_Daiki and the fruits of his ingenious labor @TheDaikiCo.

 

**Transcript from Dorian Speaks**

**Cherrie:** Since when do you consider giving up your iPhone for any reason whatsoever?  I thought you were one of those brand snobs, Dorian.

**Dorian:** Oh, I am, but have you _seen_ this shit?

**Cherrie:** Seriously, Dorian?

**Dorian:** Oh my God, fine, correction: _stuff_. Does it _really_ matter? I already _said_ it. Anyway, Daiki Company is what Apple _should_ be, what they _would_ be if they applied themselves and did more than re-release lighter versions of the same crap.

**Cherrie:** Dorian! And _you_ keep buying it.

**Dorian:** I like to keep up-to-date with my hardware.  So sue me, Cher. And this stuff is verging into Sci-Fi epicness.

**Cherrie:** You're easily impressed.

**Dorian:** Lies, slag! Bite you tongue!

**Text message from Salem to Bailey**

**Salem:** Is it bad that I'm watching Vampire Academy during class?

**Bailey:** Its sad ur wtchng VA at all :/

**Salem:** Don't hate on my Romitri love.

**Bailey:** Romitri is byootiful. & Id nvr h8 on ur pairings.

**Salem:** Umhm that's what you said Aubrey and Jessica.

**Bailey:** Thats cuz that bk is ridic.

**Bailey:** & the movie sux...like ur taste in telly.

**Salem:** Like the food you eat? :P

**Bailey:** Like ur teenage/porno reading material ;)

**Salem:** Like your dirty mouth?

**Bailey:** Are u saying u didnt enjoy it? No mre sucking on u?

**Salem:** When did I say that? Suck on me all you want :3

**Bailey:** Lmao the sappy shit u say 2 me

**Carey Ahearn (@carey_me_home)**

Bracing myself for Monday team lunch. Let me brace myself for quality time with my crazy team :D

* * *

" _What_ is _that_?" Rafa peered at the tiny, ping-pong ball sized cube Bailey hadn't stopped playing with since Salem had handed it to him over four weeks ago after he'd gotten something like £150,000 to start up his consumer electronics company.

"The Cube," Bailey answered vaguely, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he poked at it again.

"What the fuck is a Cube?" Rafa pressed.

Carey sighed and looked up from his grilled chicken, "The thing in his hands that he's been playing with for a _month_?"

"Right," Rafa nodded, "but what _is_ it?"

Pursing his lips, Carey shrugged, "Ask _him_."

"I _am_.  You're the one who interrupted to be a smartass," he shot back at Carey while Bakar sighed and leaned back in his seat, eyes narrowing on Bailey who tensed under his captain's gaze automatically.

"Fine, let's have at it, then, Bailey," Bakar ground out while Bailey looked up at him, hands still and lips pursed.  "What the exactly _is_ that thing you've been playing with for a month?"

"Alien technology!" Erik, a midfielder, started.

The rookie next to him shot him a disbelieving look before rolling his eyes, "I know Bailey's scary good most days, but I hardly doubt it's because he's a Martian, Erik."

Erik smirked, "Stranger things have happened, Jared."

"Like what?" Jared the rookie demanded, not backing down.  Erik hesitated while Jared nodded knowingly, "Exactly.  This is the _Premier League_ not _NASA_."

"Still not an explanation," Gino, an Italian defender, put in.

Rafa nodded and pointed at him, "Thank you.  That's what I'm _saying_."

Bailey quirked an eyebrow at Rafa before his eyes took in the rest of the table all watching him expectantly.  With a sigh, Bailey straightened.  "It's an mp3 player."

"Not one _I've_ ever seen," Piero, a Chilean forward, added with a laugh.

"I heard that!" A defender remarked.

Wes, the Wales native forward, rolled his eyes, "How many _have_ you seen? You still have a first generation iPod because your technologically illiterate."

The team oohed, and Piero scowled at Wes before shrugging at his truthfulness.  Bailey sighed, "I'd get that if I could." Piero raised his hands apologetically and Wes shot Bailey a reassuring smile.  "My friend, Salem—"

"The one who came to Bakar's New Year's Eve party?" Jared clarified.

Bailey nodded and continued, "He's a computer engineer who designs consumer electronics. His start-up company just got funded by venture capitalists or what have you so this is one of his designs."

Dead silence.

Carey broke it, sputtering, "What the hell?  Seriously?"

Erik shrugged, "I knew that kid was awesome."  Piero and Jared nodded in agreement.

Frowning thoughtfully, Bakar peered down at the little cube Bailey had set on the table. "Okay, so we know the _who_ and the _what_ but what does the thing actually do?"

"And where's the port to connect it to the computer?" Gino frowned at it.

Bailey shrugged, "It unfolds from a cube into a flat touchscreen mp3 player, and it doesn't actually connect to a computer."  And if _that_ didn't bring about another dead silence.  _How the hell did I get into marketing?_   He could see the rising questions and spoke before they could, "It has solar panels in it for on the go recharging, but the actually charging station is this super thin mat that plugs into the wall and charges the device as long as it's resting on the mat."

Carey had stopped eating to gape at Bailey.  "What did you say this company's name was again?"

Clearing his throat nervously, Bailey squeaked out, "I didn't?"

"Please do." Bakar responded.

"No, no, hold on," Rafa cut in before the shark descended on Bailey while Gino snagged the Cube, holding it between him and another defender, a Mexican expatriate, Jorge Maldonado, the two of them peering at it curiously.  "How do you sync your music library to the computer?"

Bailey cleared his throat, "I'm not sure?"  All eyes turned to him, completely unimpressed.  "I mean, Salem connected it for me.  He explained but I didn't really get it, but it's really easy. I just download new music on my computer or the Cube it uploads onto the other automatically unless I specifically tell it not to."

Erik gaped, "Who _is_ this kid that you're friends with?"

"The second coming of Steve Jobs." Wes said seriously and Jared and his rookie midfielder buddy, Alejandro, nodded.

"Does he have computers? My laptop's crap anyway," Jorge asked.

"What about cell phones?" Jared requested.

"Or a nice reader, maybe a tablet," Wes mused.

Piero elbowed him, "You're such an old man Wesley."

Bakar pursed his lips, "Is there a website?"

"Is there a _store_?" Erik pushed.

"No store," Bailey replied tensely, not at all comfortable with so much of his team's attention on him.  The press he could handle just fine, but his own team's interest in Salem through _him_ made him distinctly uncomfortable. "Yes to a website."

Suddenly the entire table had their phones out while Carey narrowed his eyes on Bailey accusingly, "You never told me Salem was a computer genius."  Bailey shrugged stiffly while Carey raised his eyebrows.

"What's the website?" Jared frowned.

"I don't know," Bailey started, finishing before everyone had a chance to look at him like he'd lost it, "Salem does everything for me."

"Awwww," Piero teased, "you're such a baby, Bailey."

"Company name!" Erik declared.

"Daiki Company."

Salem's Japanese given name. Some name that kid had too. Daiki Konstantin Kimura-Petrov. His father's family called him by his Japanese name, Kimura Daiki, and his mother's family called him by his Russian names, Konstantin "Kostya" Petrov, and people who knew and loved him well enough called him Salem, the origin of which he continued to keep from Bailey and that neither Max nor Bastian knew.  Charlie, Bailey figured, most likely knew, but he didn't know him well enough to ask and the pair were close enough Charlie probably wouldn't tell. Then there was Georgia who, despite Salem's extreme reluctance to tell him _anything_ about Georgia other than that he held a good deal of hostility and resentment towards her that Bailey hadn't needed him to _say_ to realize, had apparently grown up with Salem, which _Georgia_ had admitted drunkenly during Daiki Company's 'we got funded' celebration.  She might know, but Bailey was not about to risk the backlash that Salem harbored specifically for anything having to do with the woman.

"Eugh! They won't officially be open until May," Wes muttered while Piero leaned over to frown at Wes's computer screen.

Jorge glared, "My laptop's going to die before then."

Bakar raised his eyebrows at Jorge, "Why?  Do you frequently throw it against the wall?"

" _¡_ _C_ _á_ _llate!_ " Jorge pointed at Bakar, "It's like 10 years old!  Shit happens." Sighing, he turned to Bailey who watched him carefully, warily, "You think your boy could hook me up early?"

Bailey flinched, duck his head and muttering, "He's not _my_ boy."

Gino smacked Jorge in the back of the head, "Or you can wait like everyone else, you ass."

" _Bailey_ didn't have to wait," Jorge whined.

Wes crossed his eyes while Carey leaned forward and gave Jorge a disbelieving look, "He's _Bailey's_ best friend, you arse."

Rafa raised his eyebrows and looked over Bailey, growing more and more sheepish as he scrunched into his chair.  Bakar raised his eyebrows, "He has a phone with a wrap around screen.  You shut off one of them to just use the other."

"The _Illusion_ ," Jared oohed while Bailey rolled his eyes.

"What about the bendable cell phone?  I can wear it on my wrist. I'm sold!" Piero grinned.

"You ever use one of his cells?" Wes asked Bailey who blinked in surprise.

"I…um…no, because until recently they didn't have a carrier to provide service, but I mean, he and his whole… _team_ , I guess you could call them, all use them now because their marketing chief said they should present a unified front.  The weird thing is that Salem was the only person who put up a fight, something about being overly attached to his ancient Galaxy.  Really, I just think that he didn't want to change all the information over."

"Ah! We can pre-order!" Erik exclaimed happily.

"Can I customize my order?"

Wes sighed while Rafa raised his eyebrows, "Rookies, honestly.  Yes, genius, try to button that says 'customize'."

"Do I make enough to customize a laptop?" Jared frowned.

"Probably not," Erik patted Jared's head while the rookie glared at him. "The whole thing is screen. It can be a giant tablet. Do you make enough to buy _any_ of this?"

Bailey rolled his eyes and looked at Rafa who was frowning thoughtfully as he flipped through the Daiki Company website.  He cleared his throat awkwardly, and Rafa looked up at him questioningly. Things had been tense with Rafa lately, and Bailey couldn't really pinpoint why or what had caused it but it put Bailey on edge.  He didn't have many friends, and of them, he had even less that he trusted.  It unsettled him, Rafa's indifferent behavior, but Bailey wasn't ready to throw in the towel on their three year friendship quite yet.

"So…" Bailey started slowly while Rafa clicked off his phone and leaned back in his seat to raise his eyebrows at Bailey.  "Valentine's Day is tomorrow."  Rafa nodded slowly while Carey watched them carefully from across the table; he cleared his throat anxiously, "What are you and Chloe doing?"

Rafa's face remained expressionless, "Why?"

"I was just wondering."

"You going to take out Kanani?  Trying to get back in her good books?"

Bailey laughed humorlessly, "Not exactly."

Face shuttering, Rafa turned to Bailey.  "What is going on with—?"

"Enough, Rafa, Jesus," Carey snapped lowly, shooting him a warning look Bailey didn't entirely understand.  Rafa threw his hands up and grumbled to himself as Bailey frowned and turned to Carey who forced a smile.  "Look, first and only rule of Valentine's Day, do for your partner."

Bailey frowned at his choice of words while Piero balked at Carey.  "And what the fuck do you know about Valentine's Day? You don't have a significant other to celebrate with."

Carey pointed at him dangerously.  "I send Alana chocolates and Molly jewelry and my mother doilies or what have you. I've got people I care about.  I'm not a total dud."

The team laughed while Bailey thought that over 'do for your partner' which Salem was _not_ …his, in any sense, but he still wanted to _do_ something for him. Which was unusual considering how selfish Bailey tended to be.  He was just going to go with it. 

* * *

 

Salem leaned his head back against the window from where he'd curled up in a ball in the passenger's seat of Bailey's Land Rover, typing out his essay for a class while Bailey drove, having him a reprieve from hours of mindless music. Peering up at Bailey from over his laptop, Salem remarked, "You know, I'm not discouraging your incredibly thoughtful behavior, but Valentine's Day is typically for _couples_. You know, people in relationships?"

Smiling over at Salem, Bailey nodded sagely, "So I've been told recently."

"By who?" Salem asked sharply. Bailey shrugged and swallowed, narrowing his eyes at the landscape out the window.  "Arthur, not even joking, who the fuck said something to you about the two of us hanging out?"

"Just a friend of mine," Bailey tried to shrug it off while Salem pointedly closed his laptop, gritting his teeth and raising his eyebrows with anger clear in his expression. Clearly, Salem was not about to have that from Bailey.  Sighing, he ran a hand through is hair, "He didn't mean anything by it. I was just asking a hypothetical. I didn't even mention _you_."

"Like that makes it any better, Bailey.  Sounds like a fuck all friend if he has an attitude about something he knows nothing about."

Bailey frowned but didn't disagree.  He didn't know what was wrong with Rafa, though Carey seemed to have at least a little bit of an idea. Sighing, Salem looked over at him and smiled, reaching over to run a hand gently through his hair. Bailey leaned into the gesture, recognizing it for the silent acquiescence that it was before disregarding the indirect discussion of Rafa to focus back on Salem's previous comment. "Well, you don't have a boyfriend, and you're the closest _I'll_ ever get. Besides, I think spending six weeks sleeping together every other day qualifies as some sort of relationship."

Salem pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully on Bailey, "Do you do this with all your regular one night stands?"

"I think that's a bit of an oxymoron.  The whole point of a one night stand is to never see them again."

"Unless they get knocked up and have to cyber stalk you for your information to let you know that you have a spawn somewhere who's the spitting image of you and is in definite need of child support."

Cocking his head, Bailey glanced over at Salem, "Funny enough, that's never actually happened to me."

"No, but it has happened to Carey, right?  I'm pretty sure that's the story I got while he was drunk."

"Molly's never let him for get it."

Nodding silently, Salem glanced sideways at Bailey seeming reluctant to say something.  Bailey rolled his eyes and reached over to pinch Salem's calf, and he yelped, aiming a kick at Bailey who caught his foot with an eye roll and a look of disbelief.  _I'm driving, moron_.  Salem seemed utterly unconcerned about his possible safety. "You realize your whole soccer team––"

" _Football_ ," Bailey corrected.

Salem huffed, "Whatever, that like your entire _football_ team bought something from my website."

Bailey blanched, hedging carefully, "Oh?  You can _see_ that?"

"I mean, it's a pretty new and therefore small and Harley's been having us keep an eye on our sales, and I'm the CEO so everything goes through me one way or another. So… _yeah_ , I saw that." _Oh shit, I wasn't expecting that_. Bailey nodded slowly while Salem's lips curled up into a slight smile.  "What did you do, Bailey?"

"I mean…nothing?" Salem raised his eyebrows, and Bailey swallowed, "I was just playing with the Cube, and Rafa asked about it, then Bakar wanted to know, and we were at this whole team lunch thing after our Monday morning practice…yesterday. I just…"

"Do you think I'm gonna yell at you?"  He asked, raising his eyebrows.  Bailey bit the inside of his cheek and ducked his head as much as he could while still keeping his eyes on the road.  Salem sighed and stuck his laptop under the seat, shifting his lean his side against Bailey's resting his head on his shoulder, not speaking until Bailey relaxed. Salem hummed thoughtfully and shifted to look up at Bailey.  "I'm an entrepreneur in college and trying to break into an industry already saturated with consumer electronics."

"Not like yours," Bailey replied quietly.

"Thanks," he said, sounding subdued but genuinely grateful for the assurance. "It's not a bad thing, Bailey. I'm not _upset_ at you for drumming up much needed business for me, okay? I mean, Charlie's basically become a spokesman, if he convinces one more cast member that they need _another_ electronic _I'm_ gonna have to start paying _him_."

Bailey laughed with relief. "And he told Dorian."

Salem grimaced but nodded, "Yeah.  They're friends." He paused for a minute before continuing with, "Sort of."

_Oh, yeah, that_. Bailey only vaguely remembered the scandal from maybe a year ago involving Irial and Charlie…or more specifically, he remembered the broken phone call from Cris about it. It hadn't been his business, so he kept his nose out of it, letting Cris deal with it without Bailey's judgement, judgement that Bailey _knew_ he'd receive from his bandmates. He frowned before starting hesitantly, "Is he _actually_ ––"

"Gay?" Salem finished for Bailey, "Yeah. I mean, I'm assuming so? We dated for a while. I never asked him."

"You what?" Bailey balked while Salem shrugged.

"It happened once. Never again.  We're friends, whatever.  Where are we going?"

"Here," Bailey answered cryptically as he took the exit for Lacock Village. Salem quirked an eyebrow, looking around as Bailey followed the directions on his phone, understanding dawning on him while Bailey's smile grew.  "I figured since you think you're a Death Eater––"

Salem shook his head defensively, "Just because I got the Dark Mark tattooed on my arm––"

"–– _and_ Nagini down your _spine_ _––_ "

"––does _not_ make me a Muggle-hating pureblood."

Bailey laughed as he parked the car, turning to Salem, "So, Tom Riddle," Salem glared at him while he continued, "do you want to go on the tour of the local Harry Potter filming locations or not?"

Shoving the door open, Salem leaned across the console to kiss Bailey, "You're the best not-boyfriend ever."

Bailey rolled his eyes but smiled as he followed a positively giddy Salem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, I'm a total Voldemort/Nagini/Tom Riddle Jr. fan. I'm really upset they both died like that because Voldemort was awesome. Yes, he was evil, but he was an awesome evil. The first part of this chapter is just mostly to give you a feel for the team outside of Bailey's immediate friends, a feel for the changing relationships with his immediate friends, and to demonstrate how absolutely awkward the child is. He has issues. Lacock Village is actually where a few scenes from Harry Potter were shot.


	16. "Wakin' Up to Love" by Shanna Crooks

To: [tashandkostya@gmail.com](mailto:tashandkostya@gmail.com)

From: [theghostsofsalem@gmail.com](mailto:theghostsofsalem@gmail.com)

Subject: We need to talk

Mama,

I've got some pretty big decision to make in the upcoming months, and I want you to be a part of the, so call me when you've got some time, preferably a lot of time because I know you're not going to be too thrilled about the results of this discussion.

Kostya

 

**The Daiki Company (@TheDaikiCo.)**

2 months until the release. Thanks to everyone who's pre-ordered already.

 

To: [theghostsofsalem@gmail.com](mailto:theghostsofsalem@gmail.com); [rabslocket96@gmail.com.uk](mailto:rabslocket96@gmail.com.uk); [crawfishdane1017@gmail.com.uk](mailto:crawfishdane1017@gmail.com.uk)

From: [theharleenquinzel@gmail.com.pk](mailto:theharleenquinzel@gmail.com.pk)

Subject: Pre-order earnings

I have excellent news.  Ao far we've had over 500 people pre-order more than 800 products and made over £200,000. I'd say way to go with the marketing Dane, but I think Salem's contacts and Dorian's little on-air announcement might be entirely more than likely.

 

**The second coming of Apple and Jobs?**

Despite products not officially being released to the public until Friday, May 5th, the UK seems to be overwhelmed with anticipation for new consumer electronics from newborn brand, Daiki Company. Started by a group of students studying at King's College in central London and spearheaded by American study abroad student and MIT computer programming major, Daiki Kimura-Petrov, who reportedly works part-time testing cyber security for major corporations, the company is only just in its infancy and has already gained the appreciation and attention of a lot of the UK's elite.  Supported publicly by Kimura Michi, a Japanese boybander and Petrov's half-brother, Charles Beck, UK child star and longtime friend of Petrov, much of Arsenal and Chelsea FCs due to a rumored friendship between Arthur Bailey and Petrov, and radio show DJ, Irial Dorian, the up-and-coming infant company already has international intrigue and could well be the next Apple.

 

**Text message from Bailey and Salem**

**Bailey:** Just let me!

**Salem:** No.

**Bailey:** Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeez!

**Salem:** No.

**Bailey:** Not even 4 my bday?

**Salem:** When's your birthday?

**Bailey:** Mar 23

**Salem:** Thrusday?! When were you gonna tell me?

**Salem:** What do you want to do?

**Bailey:** Invest in ur company .-.

**Salem:** If you let me take you out for your birthday.

**Bailey:** Deal XD

* * *

Salem woke up to a tongue tracing the underside of his already erect cock.  Teeth tugged on the prince albert piercing he really ought to have known better than to get, and he could picture Bailey smiling as his mouth enclosed over the head of Salem's cock, his tongue pressing up into the piercing. And Salem ground out a long, aroused ground, arching up into Bailey's mouth without even meaning to.

Bailey took Salem's dick deep into his throat without complaint, swallowing him down, throat fluttering as he let Salem lazily fuck his mouth, tongue flicking the piercing every time Salem pulled out and yanking a moan from Salem.  "Fuck Arthur, I'm gonna cum," Salem groaned. Bailey said nothing, just pressed his finger into Salem's dry hole and pressed inside carefully, pulling back slightly to swallow as Salem came into his mouth.

He pulled off and moved up to prop his chin on Salem's stomach, smiling at him groggily and saying in a roughened voice, "Morning."

Pursing his lips, Salem raised his eyebrows at Bailey, running his fingers through his thick hair, and Bailey hummed, leaning into the touch and closing his eyes appreciatively. Huffing out a laugh, Salem shift his other arm beneath his head and looked down at Bailey.  "Not that I'm not appreciative, but it's _your_ birthday. Shouldn't I be the one blowing you?"

Laughing, Bailey shook his head, "You're right.  It's _my_ birthday so you should just go along with what I want, no question."

"So, really, aside from you turning nineteen, it's no different than any other day?" Salem beamed at him while Bailey kept his eyes closed, sticking his tongue out.

"So what's on the agenda for today?"  Salem floundered, and Bailey opened his eyes to give him a dry look that had Salem shutting his mouth and offering the younger man a sheepish smile.  Bailey closed his eyes again, "Uh-huh, I know you and your need to celebrate holidays and birthdays and completely unnecessary crap like that."  _What the fuck? Birthday hatred?_   Salem raised his eyebrows at Bailey who continued, "I know you have something planned."

Salem grinned, "'Course I do.  And I should be asking _you_ that since I'm assuming you're not gonna skip practice."

"I can't just skip practice.  It doesn't work that way. Can you just skip work?"

"Yes," Salem remarked with a lazy grin while Bailey rolled his eyes.  When it came to the Daiki Company, Salem's work was his passion. He had plans upon plans and tinkered more often than not.  If he skipped a day of work, it wasn't that big of a deal, and with his online cyber security work, Salem didn't have time constraints or specific dates when he got things done.  So, yes, he _could_ just skip work. His work waited for him, and that was the way Salem liked it, why he'd always planned to have his own company as opposed to working in the midsts of a large corporate machine.

Sighing, Bailey cracked open his eyes, "I have to go for a run."

"Wow, something new and different."

"And have to have breakfast and work a little in the weight room."

"Which I _always_ do with you while I'm here," Salem rolled his eyes and tugged lightly on Bailey's hair. "You could stop being irritating any time now and tell me when practice ends."

Bailey smirked up at Salem, "Fine.  Bakar called a team lunch at noon, which is most likely actually some kind of rather unwanted surprise luncheon for my birthday, because _no one_ seems to care that I don't want to celebrate it."  He scowled up at Salem who beamed at him, completely unconcerned about Bailey's attitude, "Practice starts at 13:30 and ends at 15:00. After that, I'm all yours…assuming you're skipping your afternoon classes."

Pursing his lips and smiling innocently down at Bailey, Salem gently ran his nails over Bailey's scalp while he sighed and relaxed into Salem.  "Bailey, it's your birthday.  I'm skipping all my classes today.  I have to prepare.  You're gonna let me borrow your car right?"

Bailey sighed tiredly this time, "Do I have to?"

"'Fraid so. I'm still broke in England lacking a set of wheels."

"Do you have a UK driver's license?"

"Did you _seriously_ just ask that?"

Leveling his gaze on Salem, Bailey replied, "If you end up incarcerated, I'm reporting my car stolen."

Salem smiled and sat up, leaning down to give Bailey a quick kiss.  "Deal.  Now, get up and go run."

"I don't want to," Bailey pouted, wrapping an arm around Salem's waist and burying his face into Salem's lap.

"Bailey…" Salem hedged carefully, knowing he'd be whiny the whole day if he stayed in bed passed nine, let alone if he didn't get up to go for his usual hour long jog.

Rolling to look up at Salem, Bailey shook his head with a pout still on his face.  "Konstanin."

Salem rolled his eyes and trailed his fingers over the side of Bailey's face before smiling indulgently at him, "Fine."  Bailey smirked and closed his eyes while Salem tapped him until he opened his eyes to glare at Salem who only grinned, "Get up and come shower with me. Then I'll even make you breakfast."

Bailey eyed him skeptically, "You can't cook."

"Look, I can cook breakfast foods as long as you don't want homemade biscuits or bacon or pancakes made from scratch."

"So basically, you can cook eggs, pour cereal, follow directions on a box, and make coffee?"

"I can make tea too." Bailey looked heavenward, and Salem sniffed, "And I can toaster oven sausage."

"'Toaster oven' is _not_ a verb. And that sounds disgusting. So maybe I'll take care of meat."

"Deal," Salem smirked, leaning down to give Bailey another kiss, this one longer and more passionate.  Bailey shifted, surging up to press Salem back onto the mattress, looming over him as their tongues danced together.  He smiled into the kiss, hands cupping Bailey's face as their mouths moved against each other, flushed skin pressed against each other until Salem pulled back to beam at Bailey. "Nope, I'm sticky, covered in your cum, and gross.  You want this ass? You'd damn well better get me a shower first."

Bailey laughed and pulled Salem up with him, tugging him into the bathroom while Salem shook his head and smiled letting himself be tugged.

* * *

Southbank sat an hour from Arsenal's practice pitch…if you were doing the speed limit, which Salem wasn't much to Bailey's evident chagrin. He'd spent the whole time fiddling with Salem's laptop and making snide comments about becoming roadkill thanks to Salem's horrendous driving.   _I am an excellent driver, thank you very much_ , Salem thought to himself, scowling over Bailey who'd somehow dug his way through all of Salem's computer security to find his video library, pulling on the wireless earbuds  _Salem_ had given him and sat cross-legged on the passenger's seat— _on the left side, how fucking trippy_ —and was laughing as he watched  _Wild Child_ for about the millionth time.

Salem snorted but didn't make his usual snippy comment, more than content to let Bailey watch Emma Robert's pretend to be an LA beach bunny thrust into English boarding school if it so made Bailey happy.  Because Salem, like a lot of people, tended to forget that no matter how mature or responsible Bailey was, he'd only just turned nineteen and was still a kid, not unlike Salem himself who, at twenty-one, was still inclined to drink more than he should and party longer than his body wanted him too.  The worst part about Bailey was that it wasn't just other people who forgot he was still young, still a _teenager_ , Bailey forgot too.

The only time it really _hit_ Salem was when Bailey did something decidedly uncharacteristic that highlighted how old he actually was. I.e. pouting when he had to get out of bed, curling into a ball to sleep, watching movies made for teenagers, making vague references to his boarding school years (only three years ago). He didn't seem to realize or even _want_ to realize that he was young and it was okay to act that way. Bailey was a soccer player not Rosemarie Hathaway from _Vampire Academy._ His best friend's survival was not in his hands.  He wasn't in the military.  And no one was counting on him for their continued safety, and Salem would be damned if he let Bailey's soccer team and the UK media beat his youth and immaturity out of him before his time.

Salem smiled as he pulled into a parking lot, poking Bailey's cheek to get his attention. He looked up, blinking in surprise, slowly closing the laptop as he looked around.  His eyes widened in excitement before his face fell, and he turned to Salem.  "My nutrition plan, Salem."

"It's your _birthday_.  Your nutrition plan can kiss it, alright? Embrace the awesomeness."

"It's _chocolate_."

"It's a chocolate _festival_ , which is so much better than chocolate," Salem pointed out as he zipped his computer shut and stuffed it into his backpack.  He tossed his bangs out of his eyes and pinned a skeptical but despite his best efforts excited Bailey with a serious look.  "I know you're very anti-fun, but get out and try to have a good time."

By his fifth chocolate truffle, Bailey had become hyperactive and increasingly giddy, especially as he studied the array decorated little chocolates while Salem sipped chocolate champagne delicately like he was afraid it was going to bite him. Bailey was obviously enjoying himself, having given up on pretending otherwise one chocolate mousse cheesecake and a dark chocolate espresso ago.  Now, he studied the display with interest while the shopkeeper watched with barely concealed glee at the famous soccer player's singular interest in his artisan chocolate creations.

Sighing, Bailey straightened and turned to Salem, pulling the plastic cup of chocolate champagne out of his hand and sniffing it.  "I don't know."  He sipped the drink while Salem watched in amusement, making a face before admitting, "I can't tell whether that's actually _good_ or not."

Shrugging, Salem stole back his cup, "It's an acquired taste."  He tuned his gaze back to the little chocolates Bailey had been deciding on before replying, "Get what you want."

"You're not gonna pay for it."  Bailey had stated this matter-of-factly like Salem would accept _that_ order without argument. Without giving him a chance to refute, Bailey turned to the chocolatier without preamble, rattling off his order with speed while Salem salivated over his choice.  Raspberry dark chocolate, toasted coconut white chocolate, Nutella, the boy had good taste in chocolates.

Salem frowned at Bailey, "It's your birthday."  Bailey tossed him a bored look, and Salem turned to appeal to the chocolatier. "It's his _birthday_.  Don't accept his dirty birthday boy money."

"Really, Kostya," Bailey remarked calmly, "you need to relax.  You're hardly in a position to pay for £5 chocolates."

Balking at the chocolatier, Salem asked, "Is _that_ how expensive they are?"

Amused, the chocolatier nodded, "I hand make these."

"I applaud your genius," Salem responded tonelessly and turned to a smug Bailey with a radiant smile.  "After your _excellent_ marketing strategies, I'm hardly in a position _not_ to."  Bailey's smirk dropped, and Salem beamed, fishing the cash out of his wallet. "Exactly, I'm still paying."

"Are you paying for dinner too?"  Bailey wrinkled his nose at Salem as he thanked the chocolatier and carried Bailey's bag of chocolates without complaint.

"Yep. I'm paying for a high carb dinner that you're going to _eat_ and dessert."

"Ice cream?" Bailey asked with a childlike grin on his face.

Salem rolled his eyes, "Yes, I suppose ice cream is acceptable as long as you don't try to wuss out with sugar free crap or sorbet."

"I don't actually _like_ sorbet," Bailey confided musingly.

With feigned affront, Salem glared at Bailey, "What do you have against sorbet?"

"It's nothing personal, I just don't really like fruity flavors."

"No shit?" Salem raised his eyebrows at Bailey who shrugged.

"I think it's my mother's fault."  Salem tripped, and Bailey caught him automatically with a thoughtful expression on his face. He didn't say anything, letting Bailey continue.  He _never_ talked about his family, especially not his parents, anything and everything Salem knew about the Bailey family he'd read online during the first and only time he'd ever looked him up on Wikipedia.  "I used to love mango sorbet, mango salsa, mango _everything_ , but I wouldn't eat fish for the life of me.  It smelled gross, and I adored _Finding Nemo_ so, really, I just couldn't.  So one day, she get it in her head to try to combine my love for mangoes and my complete abhorrence for fish by making mango tilapia." Salem raised his eyebrows, already seeing where this was going, and Bailey nodded, "I ate it because I'd been well and truly manipulated, but I puked it up hours later and came out of the experience utterly scarred.  I hated mangoes _and_ fish so it totally backfired."

"Nice."

"Yeah," Bailey laughed.  "A few year later we went on a vacation to Key West, and I was convinced by the waiter to try Mahi."

Salem groaned in adoration. He _loved_ seafood. "Dolphin fish."

"Right?" Bailey grinned at him, "It's _delicious_ , but after throwing up mangoes for _hours_ I could never bring myself to have another one. _Ever_."

"Well, I hate sweet and sour flavors together."

Bailey sputtered out a chuckle before looking at him sideways, "Must make Asian food difficult."

"Tell me about it," Salem admitted with a sigh while Bailey laughed.  "It's not _my_ fault. My mother is like second generation Russian immigrant.  Her parents? Straight off the boat. _Ded_ and _Babushka_ , my grandparents, were born during the height of the Cold War and moved here in the 70s.  My _babushka_ was a florist, and my grandfather was the highly intelligent assistant of a geneticist who'd requested he come to America with him."

"And this has to do with your poor Asian eating habits, how?"  Bailey teased.

Salem flicked him. "My mom grew up in San Francisco in this quaint little area full of Russian immigrants so all she ever really ate was Russian food, which is a lot of flavor, a lot of game, and a lot of like wild grown or caught things, you know?  Not so much sweet and sour and spicy and _raw_."

"Don't hate on sushi," Bailey nudged him.

He shuddered and shook his head.  "Ew. Gross.  Sushi.  Anyway, everything I ate was really homey, like comfort food, flavorful and almost always had some kind of meat.  The first time I ever went to Japan, I was ten, I believe.  My half-siblings were both seven, and my grandparents and stepmother, Hikari, were actually surprisingly excited to meet me.  _Chichi_ , that's my father, had visited me a lot and talked to me on the phone and web and email, so he'd taught me Japanese… _a little_. I'm not the greatest.

"But I got there, and we had this big family dinner at my _sofuba_ 's house." Bailey shot him a look, and Salem smirked, "My _grandparents_ numbnuts.  Follow the bouncing ball."  Bailey rolled his eyes.  "And sitting on the table is sushi— _a lot_ of sushi—white rice, tofu, and soy sauce.  Now, Japanese dinners have specific rules, and I knew them— _know_ them—and one of them is to eat until their is nothing left.  Being a picky eater?  Bad. But I _couldn't._ There was _raw fish_. So I pulled on this huge sweatshirt and kept sticking fish in the pocket, later that night my _chichi_ and Hikari found me disposing of my contraband raw fish while cooking pelmeni. _Chichi_ was amused. Hikari was devastated that I couldn't stomach Japanese food.  My grandparents said I'd grow out of it."

Bailey shook his head, biting his bottom lip as he grinned, "I'm guessing you didn't."

Salem blushed and shook his head, "Not so much.  No, but I can down caviar like it's froyo, which makes them feel a little better. And white rice? Doable."  Bailey laughed while Salem peered at a restaurant they were passing by, pausing and asking, "You want seafood?"

"You're so wrong."

"I try."

Shaking his head, Bailey sighed, seeming to hesitate about asking something, and Salem waited in silence as they stepped up to Belgo, reading the menu out front while Bailey kept sneaking sideways glances at Salem.  He sighed and looked up, meeting Bailey's eyes expectantly.  The soccer player cleared his throat nervously. "How did that work? Your family?  I mean, they were all…okay with each other? We can eat here."

Salem nodded and held the door open for Bailey, thinking that question over as a stuttering, starstruck hostess lead them to a table.  With each second Salem stayed silent, he could _see_ Bailey growing more and more squirrely, like he'd dome something wrong by asking a minimally intrusive question.  Granted, Salem was superficial with information.  When Bailey looked more like he was two minutes away from crawling out of his skin, Salem finally took mercy on him.

"It wasn't like my mom felt cheated or like Hikari stole my father from her. They met when he was an exchange student when he was seventeen and she was sixteen.  She got knocked up, and my _chichi_ said he wanted to be a part of my life but couldn't _stay_.  They were two stupid kids.  Mama raised me. _Chichi_ sent child support and talked to me as often as he could.  I was three when _Chichi_ and Hikari got married, and Mama and I both went to the ceremony in Yamagata."  Salem shrugged, "We're some kind of freaky modern family, but it works. Mom has Damien who she's never gonna marry but loves.  _Chichi_ has Hikari who is completely psychotic but really sweet that he loves and has a family with.  It's weird, but we love each other and work.  I mean, my half-brother apparently emails with my mom."

Bailey raised his eyebrows, trying to fight a smile, "Really?"  Salem pursed his lips and nodded while Bailey frowned musingly, "So do you read those Japanese cartoons?"

"Manga? Yes, yaoi."

"Is that like the Japanese equivalent of gay literature porn?"  Salem stared at him for a minute while Bailey sipped his coke, tilting his gaze at the menu and commenting genially, "I think I'm going to have the sea bass."

"I think you're going to be the death of me."

Bailey looked up with a boyish grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chocolate festival is really and thing and really happens around the time of Bailey's birthday, and who doesn't want to go to a chocolate festival for their birthday? £5 for chocolates is about $8.15 for tiny gourmet chocolates. The research I had to do about Japanese dinners...you would not believe. It's almost as complicated on the language...I tried.


	17. "Problem" by Ariana Grande ft. Iggy Azalea

**Arthur Bailey's a real boy**

Arsenal's saintlike nineteen year old forward, Arthur Bailey, is as exemplary off the field as he is on. With an impeccable behavior and almost no scandals lurking in his personal life, we were just beginning to wonder if he's even real.  He just may be. After a team birthday lunch and a short practice, Bailey was spotted at a chocolate festival in Southbank Centre in London, tasting chocolate truffles and buying overpriced confectionaries accompanied by his friend, none other than up-and-coming technological genius Daiki Kimura-Petrov, CEO and creator of the Daiki Company whose highly anticipated, almost Sci-Fi reminiscent electronics are already a world wide phenomenon.  Despite having been rumored to have invested in the company, ex-girlfriend, Kanani Kapuana, says that the pair has been friends longer that Petrov has even been in the UK, possibly having met last August during the Rio Olympic Games. I don't know about you, but I think it's great to see the standoffish footie player out enjoying himself.

 

To: [theghostsofsalem@gmail.com](mailto:theghostsofsalem@gmail.com)

Cc: [theharleenquinzel@gmail.com.pk](mailto:theharleenquinzel@gmail.com.pk); [crawfishdane1017@gmail.com.uk](mailto:crawfishdane1017@gmail.com.uk)

From: [rabslocket96@gmail.com.uk](mailto:rabslocket96@gmail.com.uk)

Subject: Whoa

Obviously we've all seen Harley's numbers, but we've exceeded the stock we had available from projected sales for May shipment. A lot of people have been placed on back-order, which is fine for now.  I've ordered more, but I'm looking into larger manufacturers, and, honestly, I think we should seriously consider a store...per country. At this point, we're pulling almost equal numbers from North America, the UK, and east Asia (China and Japan primarily), but we do have orders from Mexico, South America, a ton from Australia, Russia, and mainland Europe.  In order to keep up with demand, I'm definitely going to need approval to work with a manufacturer who can produce higher quantity more quickly, but we're going to need to sit down and go over numbers/next steps ASAP.

Regulus

 

**Group MMS from Harley to Regulus, Dane, and Salem**

**Harley:** Ok cleared my schedule for April 26. Dinner @ our usual pub?

 

**Text message from Cris to Bailey**

**Cris:** Want to do me a favor?

 **Bailey:** Depends...

 **Cris:** Come to Iri's bday party? He's a huge fan :)

 **Bailey:** Me and parties...?

 **Cris:** Please?????? O,O

 **Bailey:** Time?

**Irial Dorian (@DorianII)**

I turn ancient today, but like fuck if I don't have the best boyfriend ever #GoodMorning ;D

* * *

Kanani tossed her short, dark hair over her shoulder and tossed Bailey a glare that he pointedly tried to ignore.  Huffing, she ran her French manicured nails through her mane and commented, "So, basically, I'm your second choice, right?"  Bailey crossed his eyes, and Kanani continued as if she hadn't noticed. "Because Salem couldn't go, right? Because your _actual_ best friend/boytoy bailed on your ass."

Sighing in exasperation, Bailey shot Kanani a dry look.  "Salem didn't 'bail' on me.  He has a dinner with his business partners over by King's College that he said is probably going to take way too long for him to bother to come."

Nodding in silence, Kanani pointed at Bailey, "I'm still your second choice."

"If I say yes will you stop talking?"

Kanani shot him a poisonous glare as someone called Bailey's name from the side.  He stiffened on pure instinct, and Kanani gave him a long-suffering look, both of their heads swiveling to see someone jogging in their direction, dark hair flopping around wildly, while someone just behind him grumbled, carrying a large box in his hands.  The closer the jogging figure got to them, the more recognizable he became: Micah Cross, a fourth of Cris's boyband, dark-haired gypsy, boyfriend to Irial's co-host Cherrie Taylor.  Whoever was trailing behind him hefting Irial's birthday cake was someone Bailey had never actually met before.

Micah grinned at Kanani and Bailey, "Hey, glad I caught you.  Cris said you were coming…well, not to Iri since I'm assuming he's banking on the element of surprise."

"So, he doesn't know?"  Bailey raised his eyebrows in surprise.

The popstar frowned in confusion, "Know what?"

 _Apparently, you don't know either,_ Bailey thought to himself while Kanani stifled laughter and the light brown, curly haired guy looked between the three of them with an assessing look that shifted to an easy, lazy smile. "I'm Harry Benton-Sterling. Irial's friend. I'd shake your hand, but, obviously, that might be a little difficult to do."

Kanani rested a hand on her hip and looked sideways at Micah, "What's wrong popstar? Don't want to break a nail?"

"'Course not. I just got these suckers done yesterday for the occasion," Micah teased back, leading the three of them into the Phoenix, letting the door start to close behind him. Bailey caught it and held it open for a glowering Harry who shot him a grateful look before following Micah, himself and Kanani bringing up the rear of the group.  "Hey, look who we found!"

Bailey blinked and cringed internally at the way all eyes seemed to swivel towards him, and he let his eyes trail over the assembled group, searching for familiar faces. Cherrie Taylor aka Cheryl Atterberry who pursed her lips and quirked an eyebrow dangerously at her boyfriend as Micah Cross cautiously wrapped her in a hug.  Dominic Kinsey chatting amicably with his girlfriend and master mixologist, Beverly Dixon, who Bailey had long since established was way too good for him.  Penney Dear laughing at whatever Benji said as he made his way over to her. A mop of curly blond locks and sharp cerulean blue eyes that locked on him curiously, Charlie Beck. And the tiny little slip of a man with light facial hair, wayward honey locks, and no sense of style whatsoever behind lanky, tall, and boyish version of a darker haired Heath Ledger.

Harry looked to Cris, "Where do you want this?"  A curvaceous, redheaded firecracker swooped in an snatched the cake away while Harry half-smiled and followed after her.

Bailey turned his gaze to Cris whose boyish smile immediately started to cross his face, "Hey!" Bailey nodded at Cris who pushed off from the bar and made his way across the room and over to the pair of them while Irial seemed to choke and gape at his boyfriend's back.

 _That's why I hate surprises_.

"Thanks for coming, Bay," Cris said warmly.  Bailey shrugged as Cris turned to Kanani, "Kanani.  It's been a while."

"If by 'awhile' you actually mean 'I can't remember ever meeting you before', then yeah, it's been awhile."

Cris laughed, "I'm Cris."

"I know you by reputation."

He blushed, and Bailey shook his head at Kanani before turning back to Cris.  "The _actual_ reputation by word of mouth that runs in our circles, hopefully.  If you mean the _other_ reputation––"

"About him being a womanizing manwhore?"

"––those have all been blissfully falsified.  Cris is practically married to the man still in shock by the bar."

"He's adorable," Kanani gushed to Cris who seemed to recover at that.

"Yeah, he is," Cris smirked before turning around to call his boyfriend over. Irial shook himself out of his stupor––partially––and made his way over in a daze, the pair of teens behind the bar giggling at him.  Cris seemed to ignore everyone in the room as he held his hand out for Irial and pulled him into his side, the two of them molding together instantly, sending a pang through Bailey who'd never have that.  Snickering at how starstuck his boyfriend was, Cris grinned down at him and started, "Iri, babe, this is––"

Without even glancing at his boyfriend, Irial smacked in the stomach lightly, "Oh my God, I know who he is.  It's Arthur Bailey!"

 _Wow, that's some serious enthusiasm_.  Bailey shifted his gaze from Cris to Irial and back again before actually letting his grin split across his face.  What could he say?  Irial's excitement was positively endearing.  "You can just call me Bailey."  Shooting a quick glance to Cris, Bailey almost smirked, thinking about the first text message he'd ever gotten from Cris regarding his boyfriend. "So, _you're_ the 'love of his life' that I just had to meet, huh?"

Cris looked appalled, and Irial blinked in surprise, darting his gaze to Cris who turned beet red in a matter of _seconds_.  Kanani stifled a giggle.  While Irial smirked, "I suppose so.  My princess just has a way with words, hasn't he?"

Kanani snorted, "And no filter."

Which wasn't strictly true. Cris had a filter…as long as it didn't pertain to Irial.  _That_ tended to be when all trace of a filter disappeared out the window in a blaze of glory.  It was a wonder his management hadn't murdered one of them yet.

Irial, seeming to only just notice Kanani, looked sideways at her with a charming grin. "I'm so rude.  Hello, lovely, I'm Irial Dorian."

She smiled, charmed by the tiny radio DJ despite herself, and Cris rolled his eyes and shared a commiserating look with Bailey.  "You're charming, aren't you?  I'm Kanani Kapuana."

"Yo, bitches! Cake is melting!" The curvaceous firecracker redhead called out from where she'd set it up on a table a little ways away, candles lit and onto of the cake.

"Melting?" Irial beamed excitedly before his gaze turned speculative and suspicious on Cris, "What kind of cake did you get me?"

"Guess you'll have to find out before it melts."

Irial wrinkled his nose at Cris, not even shooting them a backwards glance as he pulled Cris towards the cake. Bailey and Kanani couldn't help their laughter.  Irial reminded him of a more boisterous version of Salem, especially given his one track mind when it came to food, though Salem was dessert-specific in general. It seemed to be Salem's personal life goal to make Bailey's nutritionists hate him, and, as it was, he was doing an excellent job.  Every time he came over to Bailey's house, he brought some irresistible goodie with him be it cheesecake, ice cream, or cake of some type.

The first time couple times it happened, Bailey had resisted temptation.  His mistake had been when he'd _told_ Salem to stop trying to wear down his defenses; the next week there had been Belgian chocolate Haagen Daaz ice cream that Salem had ended up licking off Bailey's body until Bailey had snapped and shoved Salem back on the bed, spooning the ice cream onto Salem's skin, licking and sucking it off with three fingers in Salem's ass until he'd come untouched.

Needless to say, _that_ had been the end of that argument.

"Cake?" Irial's redhead friend asked, offering him a slice of cake, and Kanani scoffed while Bailey hesitated until his cell phone went off.

 **Salem:** Let them eat cake!

 **Salem:** And by 'them' I mean the underfed, anti-fun 19 year old soccer player named Bailey.

Bailey snorted and accepted the proffered slice of cake, ignoring the incredulous look Kanani shot him. Seriously, he was on a _nutrition plan_ not an insecure anorexic who avoided food like the plague.  He could eat sweets, he just wasn't supposed to.  There was nothing wrong with following the rules that his team's nutritionist gave him…unless he was with Salem, because, frankly, Bailey allowed Salem to get away with a lot and push him out of comfort zones that he so often _refused_ to move beyond.

Kanani gaped at him as Bailey sat down in a booth and started to nibble on his cake. "Are you _seriously_ eating cake?"

Bailey gave her a droll look, "I'm not _allergic._ "

 **Bailey:** I dont think thats wut Marie Antoinette actually said.

 **Bailey:** & ur still in uk. Its called football.

Glaring at him from where she was standing, Bailey raised his eyebrows at her in silent question. Kanani shot a pointed glance at his cell phone while he sighed and rolled his eyes at her behavior. "It's _rude_. I'm here.  Salem's a business dinner with three other people who demand his attention.  Are you two capable of not being disgustingly all over each other for _five fucking minutes_?"

Bailey raised his eyebrows. "He's not even _here_."

"Who's not here?" A familiar voice asked as Charlie Beck hip-checked Kanani aside to slide into the booth across from Bailey with an urbane smile that set Bailey on edge.

What had Salem once called his best friend?  An orca, beautiful and deadly and intelligent enough to make decisions about whose arm to bite off.

…that had come out after streaming _Blackfish_ , admittedly, but it still applied evidently.

"Arthur Bailey," Charlie practically purred.

He bristled and retorted, "Charles Beck."  His phone buzzed, and Charlie glanced down at it, raising his eyebrows.

 "That my best mate?"

Bailey glanced down at the screen.

 **Salem:** I'm staying at yours 2nite fyi cuz I need some serious tlc.

His lips curved up automatically, and Charlie sighed like this somehow answered his question. Kanani huffed throwing up her hands and sitting down on the booth beside Bailey, managing to flag down a drink while Charlie just waved a dismissive hand in tacit permission to speak to Salem.

 **Bailey:** I can tell. Ur vocab is devolving,

 **Salem:** Shut the fuck up. Why don't you come over here and talk profit margins and marketing?

 **Bailey:**...no thx.

 **Bailey:** Ur bff found me \O/

"So," Charlie hedged, "you're shagging my best mate."  Bailey choked, and Kanani fell out laughing. Mortified, Bailey gaped at Charlie who shrugged, "Whatever, I've _met_ him.  I don't know a lot of gays and bisexuals who _don't_ want to sleep with him.  Hell, I dated him, which, admittedly, wasn't our best move but it wasn't horrifying. I mean, we're still friends." Bailey's face turned red, and Kanani choked.  Bailey's stomach churned and his expressionless mask became hard to maintain, all the while Charlie's eyes never left Bailey's face.  He smirked suddenly.  "He adores you, Salem.  Honestly, the kid's a serial dater but he doesn't usually get so emotionally invested, except with, well, _me_ , but that was…" Charlie waved a dismissive hand, and Bailey swallowed and carefully kept his jaw from clenching. "The point was: why aren't you dating?"

 _Irial's birthday party is just full of surprises, isn't it?_   And not the good kind.

Bailey wasn't Cris, and his life was not a Hallmark movie.

Whereas Cris had pined for months and whined about how Irial couldn't be interested in him because of the rumors in the rags or because he was an eighteen year old popstar or a million other stupid things, Bailey knew _exactly_ where he stood with Salem. He _knew_ that Salem would have asked him out by now if he thought for a second that Bailey would actually say yes.  He _knew_ that he didn't want to sleep with anyone else as long as he had Salem exclusively. And he _knew_ he couldn't hold onto Salem forever without offering him anything else in return, especially since Salem had _told_ him that he enjoyed the companionship and intimate partnership that being in a relationship offered.

Bailey wanted Salem, craved him in ways that he shouldn't because he couldn't have him and certainly didn't deserve him.  Salem deserved someone willing to sacrifice for him, and that person wasn't Bailey who wasn't even capable of handling his parent's rejection let alone the crucifixion he'd receive from all across the world if he came out.

"He deserves better than me," Bailey said simply.  Kanani didn't even bother hiding her agreement, nodding wordlessly and stealing a bite of Bailey's cake.

Charlie scoffed, "Is this because you're closeted and he's not?  Because Salem's not Iri.  He's chill, and it's not like you're going to end up fake dating Davina Allard to make your management happy."

Bailey knew that, knew that Salem would accept anything Bailey wanted to give him.

Didn't mean he _should._

"Right," Bailey shrugged, "but he deserves to be _with_ someone. Openly.  He deserves more than I can give him."

"You can't come out?" Charlie questioned without any accusation, more like genuine curiosity.  Bailey pouted in silence while Charlie nodded in understanding, "You don't want to."

"I just…Tom Daley was a swimmer and not even strictly gay.  Lance Bass, Jamie Hensley, Cris they're in boybands not on football teams.  Raven Symone, Neil Patrick Harris, they're actors.  It's not the same as being in a male-dominated, homophobic industry that comes in only second to the military in using homophobic slurs to spur people forward. As if being gay is a weakened state of mind that can be acquired through poor performance.  I mean, what the fuck would happen if I came out?"

Charlie shrugged, not even bothering to speculate.  "You'll never know if you don't try.  Someone has to be the first."

"I don't want it to be me. I get enough media attention and enough completely unfounded hatred that I don't want anymore."

"So you're afraid. Are you afraid of Sale?"

"No," Bailey said in confusion while Kanani nodded beside him.

Charlie pointed in recognition to Kanani, and Bailey scowled at her.  _What the hell are these two going on about?_ "I think you're scared Salem's going to make you want it, make you want to push those boundaries, and you're not ready for that.  And that's fine…for now.  But I think we both know you're going to regret this.  And _I_ know Salem's gonna wait for you anyway to get your act together."

"What if I don't?" Bailey asked hoarsely, "What if I _can't_?"

Kanani hummed thoughtfully, "You can.  You're just not ready yet."

"And you won't lose him while you figure it out."

Bailey wanted to believe Charlie but couldn't.  Someone like Salem didn't wait for terrified to be outed nineteen year olds to get their shit together. They dated and got married and adopted a brood of like Sub-Saharan African babies like Brangelina. And…okay, he couldn't really see Salem with a brood of rugrats anymore than he could see himself with any, but the rest of it all held pretty true to form, especially since in two months Salem would be on a plane back to Boston and the life he'd left behind there, 5000 miles away from Bailey.

Charlie kept his gaze steady on Bailey who pursed his lips and tried not to look so morose as Irial plopped down beside Charlie with Cris trailing behind him, eyes narrowed on Bailey.

"You know, Arthur Bailey," Irial started, obviously nearing fall-down, blackout drunk. Charlie side-eyed him and edged away, obviously having seen that particular drunken side of The radio DJ before. Cris stood beside Irial who hummed as he leaned into him, pointing a finger at Bailey, "I think I've had a bit of a crush on you since you first joined Arsenal.  I mean, that first game you started in when you did that _thing_ and scored a goal with your _head._ I almost blew a load right there and realized you'd probably be a halfway decent shag. Stupendous maybe if you actually shagged men."  Bailey couldn't help but smirk as Irial frowned and leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, "Do you shag guys?"

Amused, Bailey shot a glance to Cris who shrugged while Kanani giggled into his arm and even Charlie outright chuckled.  He feigned a whisper, "It's been known to happen on occasion."

Irial nodded with the adorable seriousness only small children and happy drunks could pull off before grinning, "You should shag me."

Cris choked on his drink while Kanani gaped at him, and Charlie fell into hysterics. "I don't think Cris would be okay with that."

He nodded seriously again, "I love Crispin."

"We know," Charlie and Bailey replied simultaneously.

He turned to look up at Cris, "Can I kiss him at least?"  Cris gave him a look, and Irial declared, "Crispin! Oh my _God_ it's fucking _Arthur Bailey_!" Cris rolled his eyes, and Baikey barely even had time to think before Irial Dorian's lips were pressed against his. Kanani squealed, and he heard the shutter of a camera before Irial pulled back and nodded, glancing back up at Cris, "You taste much better, love."

Cris rolled his eyes, bemused, "I think if you drink anymore I'll be bailing you out of jail tomorrow for sexual harassment."

Irial smirked, "That's okay.  I'd much rather sexually harass you."

Kanani feigned puking, and Charlie crossed his eyes.  Bailey sighed wondering how this became his life when his phone chimed, and there above his text message from Salem was a picture of his kiss with Irial.

 **Salem:** Hot. The things you get up to when I'm working -.^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Irial's birthday party from another point of view. Aren't you lucky? And Charlie had words of wisdom for Bailey that he so so so didn't buy. There you have it.


	18. "What Its Like" by Aura Dione

To: [**theghostsofsalem@gmail.com**](mailto:theghostsofsalem@gmail.com)

From: [**tashandkostya@gmail.com**](mailto:tashandkostya@gmail.com)

Subject: My requested visit

Hey solnyshka,

I have an 18hr layover in London May 17. We'll meet at that little coffee shop by your old apartment in Westminster @16:30. I might even bring a guest for you.

Mama

 

**Shocking success for the Daiki Company**

Friday saw the release of new consumer electronics that look like they belong in a _Star Wars_ movie...not even kidding. Highly anticipated for months, the delivery of online purchases has only made demand grow as celebrities from British DJs (such as Irial Dorian and Cherrie Taylor) to whole UK football clubs (such as Arsenal FC and Chelsea FC) to boybands spanning from the United States and Canada to Japan, centralized in Western Europe, have endorsed the recent product line.  Electronic store in four countries reportedly sold out within a week.  Now all we need is a store like the Apple store so we can play with Daiki Company's new products Congratulations to the next big thing, I'm in love with my new phone and laptop already.

 

**Carey Ahearn (@carey_me_home)**

This new phone @TheDaikiCo. I'm so happy :D

 

**Georgia Hanson (@ChangedGeorgia)**

@TheDaikiCo. is beautiful but seriously @Salem_Daiki these PRICES

 

**Irish Rose (@rosieposie)**

Oh my God, this laptop! This tablet! @DorianII you might have been right about @TheDaikiCo.

 

**Soren Reid (@soren_soars)**

@TheDaikiCo. might just be my new favorite entity ever

 

To: [santiago33desantos@gmail.com.ar](mailto:santiago33desantos@gmail.com.ar)

From: [kingarthurb@gmail.com.uk](mailto:kingarthurb@gmail.com.uk)

Subject: RE: Summer Intensive Counselor

Hey de Santons,

I'm sorry I took so long to get back to you. I was trying to hammer down plans with my best mate.  I'd love to come down to Argentina and help teach at the summer football intensive. The season ends May 21, and I can be in Argentina by the 29th.

Arthur

 

**Text message from Salem to Bailey**

**Salem:** You're gonna teach kids? Like you're a good influence?

**Bailey:** Im an xcllnt influence unlike u.

**Salem:** Really? That thing you did with your tongue last night...really influential.

**Bailey:** Im teaching football not oral sex.

**Salem:** Good cause I don't think you get conjugal if you're in for pedophilia.

**Bailey:** Pleez stop tlkng X.X

**Salem:** Congrats on second place in the league...that's probs gonna be permanent, right?

**Bailey:** Wow...thx. & yes, it's probably not gonna change.

**Salem:** You gonna miss me in Argentina?

**Bailey:** I'll show you how much later tonight :*

* * *

 

"Hey."

That was the single, three letter word that obliterated Salem's generally on point concentration like a wrecking ball into a glass window.  Suddenly, the whole grasp of the security system slipped through his metaphorical mental fingers like sand.  He gaped, then looked up to glare at the open, sunny expression on the guy who'd interrupted him to begin with.  Slowly, the smile began to fade as Salem raised his eyebrows, his expression clearly expressing how much he _didn't_ want company.

This kid, though, clearly doesn't know how to hold back and hedge his bets, "I'm Spencer Kensington."

"I'm busy," he retorted dryly, rolling his eyes and focusing back on his computer with an eye roll.

Spencer smiled, "And despite your attitude, I'm still interested."

_That_ comment caught Salem's attention, and he looked up at Spencer dryly.

The kid was cute and most likely not a kid considering he was easily Salem's age at least and vaguely familiar. Spencer was cute, dirty blond and shaggy with moss green eyes and medium build.  He looked like someone who belonged in a coffee shop…like the one that they were currently sitting in, having an unwanted conversation.   The kid was adorably Hipster, which was so a million miles from Salem's emo punk attire that it was laughable. Spencer looked like the kind of person who actually intentionally purchased vegan clothes; Salem really didn't give a shit.

Salem had never actually had someone come on to him as strong as Spencer.  He had a tendency to be dismissive and an asshole when he was focused on something, especially when it came to his business(es). And this guy stood there like a walking punching bag with a sunny smile and absolutely no intention to go away it seemed.

"You're Salem Petrov," Spencer introduced Salem himself, and Salem raised his eyebrows and leaned back in his seat.  "Upcoming tech mogul.  Friend to the stars of the UK.  In my computer graphics class…"

He scowled. _Yeah, he'd stuck his foot in it_. Salem nodded slowly, suddenly abashed, "Right, yeah, whoops, sorry.  So…you're majoring in computer programming?"

Spencer shook his head, "Web design.  And you're like jack-of-all-trades when it comes to tech, right? Designing your website and the _Enterprise's_ entire personal electronics kit."  Salem let out a surprised laugh, and Spencer smiled and continued.  "And working in cyber security and master of cryptography and computer programming and physical computer design and creation."

Nodding slowly, Salem let a small smile slip across his face as he leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, "And I'm still waiting on someone."

Raising his eyebrows and leaning forward flirtatiously, Spencer asked, "Yeah? Who then?"

"Me," a distinctly accented masculine voice spoke from behind Spencer who jumped, startled, whipping around to gape at the man behind him while Salem leaned back in his seat, raising his eyebrows at the bemused Jap with bleached hair and too much guyliner standing behind him.

Spencer sputtered and gaped, appearing near to a heart attack as Michi grinned and sat down in the seat across from Salem.  "I…um…you’re…"

"Not my boyfriend," Salem took mercy on him.

Michi shrugged, "I am his brother."

"Who wasn't supposed to be here until August."  Salem raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Oh," Spencer said slowly while Michi offered him an angelic smile completely at odds with his all black ensemble mismatched eyes.  He started nodded, regaining his footing to smirk at Salem, "In that case—"

"He wants to give you his number, Daiki.  Will you take it?"  Michi raised his eyebrows.

Salem sighed and gave his brother an exasperated look.  "Why are you even _here_?  August, you said, I thought I had another month to prepare."

"Your home?"

"My soul."

Michi gave him a lopsided, disbelieving smile, and Spencer put a slip of paper on the table in front of Salem who looked up at him.  Spencer put a hand on his hip and leered down at Salem who watched him impassively. Michi spent the entire time looking between the two of them with a knowing smile and a mischievous glint to his eyes. "My number for whenever you realize how much you want me."

A smile found its way onto Salem's face as he watched Spencer turn and walk back, reaching over the counter to grab his bag out from beneath, throwing it over his shoulder and tossing Salem a playful smile as he pushed out of the door.  Shaking his head, Salem turned back to Michi who looked utterly unimpressed with the whole exchange, and Salem gave him an annoyed look that transformed Michi's disinterest to an impish grin as he reached over and snatched the paper up.

" _Spencer Kensington_ ," Michi said in a horrible imitation of a posh English accent.  He laughed while Salem rolled his eyes and grabbed the paper back, "Are you going to call him?"

"Business," Salem pointed at Michi who only laughed in response.  "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged, "Visiting you."  When Salem's look of staunch disbelief deepened, Michi sighed exaggeratedly.  Michi raised his hands in a sign of unlikely innocence. "Well, Tasha and I were talking—"

"You were talking to my mother?  _Regularly_?  What the hell?"

Michi rolled his eyes and waved a dismissive hand at Salem's question.  "We are brothers, Daiki.  She is practically my stepmother."

"My mom is _not_ your stepmother. How does that in anyway even remotely make sense?"

"May I finish?" Michi shot back patiently, and Salem wrinkled his nose but relaxed back into his seat, sipping his cappuccino and watching his brother through narrowed eyes.  Salem loved Michi absolutely, but his years being his mother's only child had made him extremely possessive about him mother's love and attention, not so much with Damien, her boyfriend, but definitely with other people his age. Michi was no exception. "Tasha and I were talking, and she mentioned she would be coming down to see you on a London layover to talk about your future, and I thought I would see if I could rearrange my schedule to come as well.  I did. And here I am."

Salem wasn't fooled for a minute.

Michi had adored both his mother and Damien from the moment they'd met when he was maybe five or six.

"Oh? Did you come here to see me or my mother?"

Pursing his lips, Michi regarded Salem carefully before shrugging, "Must I choose? It cannot simply be both?"

"With you?" Salem started carefully before shaking his head, "No."

Rolling his eyes, Michi suddenly gave Salem a Cheshire cat grin, "Spencer Kensington…he is not the one you so often talk about."  It was a non-invasive comment with a pointed question wrapped up inside, and he narrowed his at his brother who simply smiled genially at him.

            "Nope," was Salem's simple reply.  Michi pouted before his face shifted to a large open smile on someone behind him.

There wasn't even a chance to get up an turn around before Michi was out of his seat and embracing whoever had just walked in with a happy exclamation of "Mama!" Salem glowered while his mother laughed, kissing Michi's cheek and tossing Salem a pointed look to chill out with the jealousy.  He relaxed, smiling genuinely when he noticed the figure who'd accompanied her.

"Michi, look at you! All tall, blond, and still not tattooed like my extremely short-sighted son?"

"Mama," Salem whined.

Michi laughed and shook his head, "Yes, ma'am.  No tattoos."

Salem glowered at his lying little brother while Michi shrugged.  They'd both gotten matching koi tattoos a couple years ago despite Michi being underage at the time.  Michi had just been smart enough to put in someplace where he could easily hide it from Natasha unlike the time when he'd had the poor sense to date a guy in the yakuza. _That_ Natasha had ridden him like _hell_ over, not even stopping once Michi had finally dumped the guy.

Natasha pointed a finger at her son.  "What's that I say? If God didn't put it there—"

"It's not supposed to be there," Salem and Michi finished in tandem.

She smiled, "That's right."  Salem crossed his eyes, and Natasha slapped him on the side of the head, giving him a warning look before she smiled and gave him a kiss on his cheek.  " _Privet,_ Kostya."

He nodded slowly at Natasha before his gaze shifted to Damien, smiling growing as he regarded the man who'd been just as much of a father figure to him as his own father had been. "Hey Damien."

"Hi," Damien said with a wide smile as he sat down beside Natasha, tugging on her ear in an almost absentminded gesture of affection, and Michi and Salem shared a long suffering look while Natasha swatted him away with her hand, giggling like a little girl.

Damien had been Salem's mother boyfriend for as long as he could remember.  He'd been an adopted Army brat most of his life before settling in California to use his skills with computers to land a six figure job in Silicon Valley for Google.  He'd been raised by a bunch of blue collar Southern caucasians, his father being a sergeant in the army and his mother being this tiny little cook. Damien, on the other hand, was just as small as his adopted mother and a little pudgy around the middle, olive-skinned with dusk dark curls and hazel eyes.

He'd been Salem's go-to guy when he'd done something completely retarded like downloading porn and a virus _and_ malware onto his mother's singular laptop while trying to stream the _Avengers_ to avoid death. After about the third time, Damien had pulled Salem to the side and given him his first lesson in computer firewalls. Six months later Salem had installed his own firewall creation onto his mother's computer that automatically bounced the attacking software at the original sender to fry _their_ computer. Frankly, it probably wasn't legal, which was why he'd only ever installed it on his family's computers and Bailey's, but Damien had helped him create it…in theory.

Michi and Damien's relationship might have been based entirely on artwork.  Granted, Michi's interest in artwork lied more in cartoon and manga, which he drew with alarming frequency.  But there bonding had come over an art gallery that they'd wandered into while Michi had been visiting Salem and his mother. They had the same eclectic interest in it, seeing stories in the images that neither Salem nor his mother could have fathomed in their wildest dreams.

As far as Salem and Natasha were concerned, Damien and Michi could have that bonding moment in their relationships and go visit all those fancy schmancy contemporary art exhibits together.

"No Bailey today?" Natasha raised her eyebrows with too-charming smile.

The woman had been on about Bailey since November when she'd come for Thanksgiving and found him hiding in his room texting the soccer player.  Luckily, she didn't have the foresight to Google him or Twitter stalk him or know his first name so she could ask for a full on background search (Salem wouldn't put it past her).  Instead, all she'd done was bug him about the man who wouldn't date him…would date _anyone_ no matter how much Salem and Kanani thought he should get over himself and his relationship insecurities and go for it.  Hell, Salem would be willing to volunteer to help him out of his dry spell.

Michi snorted and leered, "No Bailey.  But there was a Spencer Kensington who propositioned your son right in front of me, then thought we were dating, then gave him his phone number once we had clarified that incest is still rather illegal, worldwide."

"Excellent to know you're not looking to––"

"Mama!"

"––with my son. _That_ would be disturbing."

Salem dropped his head in his hands and mumbled, "Not much more disturbing than this entire conversation has been."

His mother patted his hand in a conciliatory manner that only made him peek up at her to glower. She smiled at him with sickly sweetness that had him narrowing his eyes in suspicion.  He _did not_ like that look on the woman. "So am I never going to meet the boy my son is so enamored with?  Is my interest worth so little to you.  I'm you mother, I'm supposed to love and protect you, which extends to making sure your friends––"

"Romantic interests," Michi corrected while Damien laughed and sipped his water, willing to watch and be amused like they were a reality television show over participating in the string of family melodrama.

If Salem could remove _himself_ , he absolutely would.

"––are not the type to pull you into some kind of drama.  Like that Georgie," she added after a moment.

Michi flat out laughed, and Salem sighed, running his hands through his hair while Damien finally commented with, "I thought her name was Georgia now?"

"It is," Michi and Salem said together.

Natasha rolled her eyes dismissively, "It's funny how I _still don't care_. She's…he…it is a little bitch." Damien looked shell-shocked at her complete lack of political correctness while Natasha just shrugged with an air of complete and utter unconcern.  "What?  I don't give a shit about political correctness.  _George Hanson_ is, was, and always will be a selfish bitch no matter what gender she wants to try and pretend to be.  Just like she's still gay regardless of whether or not she has a vagina because you can't change your fucking DNA.  Facts are facts people, hello."

Blinking in shock, Michi turned to Salem who'd heard a version, albeit a much less passionate edition, of this years ago when he'd come out.  Natasha's 'I accept your homosexuality' had somewhat resembled her sex talk, which had amounted to: "I don't care who you want to be with––man, woman, transexual, whatever––as long as you wrap it up and don't come home with an STD or a child and as long as you don't get a sex change."

That had been the entirety of that discussion.

Salem had assured his mother that he was more into Orlando Bloom than Kiera Knightly (they'd been watching _Pirates of the Caribbean_ at the time) and that he was just fine with possessing a dick the rest of his life. Then they'd finished the movie, sharing a tub of popcorn while Natasha bitched about Johnny Depp and whatever trivial, political reason she had for hating his guts.  Salem hadn't been paying much attention.

Deciding to drop the topic, Salem instead chose to reply with, "I highly doubt _Arthur Bailey_ is going to drag me into any trouble.  He's like Alexis from _Castle_."

Michi laughed in agreement before adding, "And I think meeting the friends only goes so far as they still live in the home and are below age eighteen.  After that, I do not believe you have any parental right to––"

"That's quite enough out of you, Michi," Natasha cut him off good-naturedly while Michi feigned a pout.  "So I'm never going to meet this boy?"

"Not today," Salem said in response with an easy shrug, "Bailey's working…packing, anyway.  He's leaving for Argentina soon."

Natasha turned to Damien and mouthed, 'Argentina?'  Michi laughed while Damien nodded and expounded with, "For football."

"Soccer," Salem whined.

"Football," Michi corrected him while Salem stuck his tongue out.

"Soccer?" Natasha repeated, dumbfounded as she turned to Salem, "You know I've never said much about the people you date––"

"You don't usually meet them," Salem reminded her.  _Never on purpose_ , if he was honest with himself, and when they did accidentally run into his mother, the rest of the relationship was short-lived.  He had no interest in bringing anyone home to meet his family until he felt sure that their relationship would be going somewhere.  Without that, there was no reason to ring any false alarm bells with the woman.

Natasha waved an airy hand, "But you know how I feel about people with no concrete objectives in life. I mean, he's spending the summer traveling to Argentina and playing _soccer_?  Does he even know the chances of actually making it to the big leagues?"

"The Premier League," Damien corrected her with a wry grin, patting her head. "Oh, I don't think you should worry about that."

"And why the hell not? Especially with Kostya's business going the way it is?"

"Because––" Damien started carefully while Michi laughed.

Salem sighed and decided it was time to whip this conversation back into shape, away from Bailey and his complete inability to be selfless to the point where he voluntarily gave up his summer to teach at some international soccer training intensive program. He'd been asked, apparently, in January sometime but had put off accepting it because of Salem's timeline about going home…which was why he'd apparently summoned his family.

"I'm stay here."

Everyone fell silent and turned to look at Salem, his mothers' face one big, angry question mark. "What?"

"I put in for a change in Visa to a Tier 1 Entrepreneur Visa, which I'm a shoe-in for considering how well the company's _already_ doing especially now that our products have actually _been_ released to the general public. We're only getting more orders in everyday and from a more global consumer base, and I need to focus. Plus two of my partners are based here. Harley's fiancé is willing to move from Punjab over to England, and there's no reason for me to uproot from here when everything is going so well.  So I'm going to stay here and focus on my business."  Michi shot a quick glance to Natasha, and Damien seemed to realize the direction this was heading.  Salem took a deep breath and admitted, "And I'm dropping out of MIT."

"Daiki Konstantin Kimura-Petrov!  What the fuck did you just say to me?"

_That this is going about as well as I expected.  Please don't kill me._


	19. "Girls Chase Boys" by Ingrid Michaelson

**Carey Ahearn (@carey_me_home)**

Summer with my favorite girl XD

 

**Benedikt Roland (@Bennyboy9)**

@carey_me_home I know the feeling Germany then Israel with mine #HaveFun

 

**Rafael Correa (@Rafa86)**

Back Brazil then onto vacay in Tijuana #Excited #HereICome

 

**Text message from Salem to Bailey**

**Salem:** Don't be an ass. Text me when you land.

**Bailey:** Argentina is hot.

**Salem:** Is that my I've landed text?

**Bailey:** Miss me yet?

**Salem:** Less and less as this convo progresses

**Bailey:** Omg I thnk its just hitting me this is my life 4 the nxt 6wks

**Salem:** You probably should have thought this through

**Bailey:** What if they h8 me?

**Salem:** They won't. You're totes adorbs.

**Bailey:**...?

**Salem:** I'm binge watching The Lizzie Bennet Diaries.

**Bailey:** I dont like kids.

**Salem:** Lmao. Have a good summer.

**Bailey:** :P

**Georgia Hanson (@ChangedGeorgia)**

Graduation is a month away then hello to the real world #Nervous

 

**Kimura Michi (@Kimura_Michi)**

@Salem_Daiki would be more fun to hang with if he wasn't always working.

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

@Kimura_Michi sorry I have a life popstar:P

 

**Text message from Spencer to Salem**

**Spencer:** I miss ur sparking personality

**Salem:** Do you?

**Spencer:** 2nite? Nando's? 17:00?

**Salem:** Doable :)

**Spencer:** I could pick you up.

**Salem:** What if I need to run?

**Spencer:** Who says I'll let you go? **  
**

* * *

"Coach, I'm  _dying_ here," the kid cried dramatically dropping to the ground at Bailey's feet.

Bailey barely even flinched as he looked down at the boy critically, eyeing him in disbelief. Yes, his dark hair had practically become plastered to his forehead and his clothes were soaked through with sweat, but Bailey thought that had more to do with the heat than the exertion exhibited by the boy.

"So hydrate and get back out on the field or sub-in."

Cameron groaned and glared up at Bailey, "You are actually trying to kill us, aren't you?"

Quirking an eyebrow, Bailey looked up at the leery group of teens watching this exchange with dread. "Everyone can thank Cameron for the ten extra suicides you'll be running once the scrimmage is over!"

The group as a unit moaned, and Cameron grimaced, letting Bailey help him to his feet and shooting him a scowl as he jogged back out to his team.  The group's sweeper, Brends, slapped Cameron on the back of the head. "You're an idiot. Everyone knows coach is a hardass."

"Except bubbles for brains over here," their midfielder commented, slapping Cameron upside the head.

Cameron scowled, "I was _trying_ to _help_."

Marty spun around and rolled his eyes.  "You helped, alright. Helped get us extra suicides. Loving the way you help out, bro."

Lao snickered, and Cameron glared at the Chinese teen who just shrugged in response.

Bailey rolled his eyes. "You girls gonna talk all day or are we actually going play sometime soon?"

The boys looked shamefaced, moving to their places, and Mario Moreno, the other team's coach and an Italian player, sidled up to Bailey, smiling at him as he whispered in amusement, "You don't have to be so mean to them."

"I'm being _hard_ on them because someone has to be," Bailey retorted, narrowing his eyes as Brends ran to beat their opposing team's forward to the ball, passing it to their midfielder, Jace, to get it out of the zone and away from the net.  He nodded.  Mario raised his eyebrows. "They're all extremely talented and extremely undisciplined.  Besides, my harsh methods prove to helping them grow as players."

Mario nodded before retorting, "Don't have kids."

Bailey laughed. _No chance of that_. Even if Bailey _wanted_ kids someday, which he could afford about as much as having a serious boyfriend, he just couldn't.  It went along with just being too deeply scarred by his own childhood, he supposed, but he would just never feel comfortable enough to hold someone else's life in his hands. All he could think about around children are the ways he could screw them up.

With football, it was easy. Technique could be corrected and tough love was a social norm in the football community, but in real life?

He could remember his own childhood well enough, tough love that made him feel more like a burden than a loved family member.  Kids didn't bounce back the way people thought, not in the longterm, which he could quite plainly attest to.  His childhood left deep scars that couldn't be hidden away and forgotten no matter the years of counseling and separation he put between himself and the past. Bailey enjoyed kids in small doses that he could give back to their parents at the end of the day so that _he_ couldn't take the blame for their learned negative traits.  That shit was all on the parents except for some of the crap the kids had picked up from him this summer (the first time one of his kids had screeched "bloody hell", he'd been mortified and Jamie MacClaren had fallen out laughing).

His phone rang in his pocket, and Bailey's lips curled up into a smile without him even checking. Bailey stuck his hand in his pocket to silence the ringer while Mario looked him over out of the corner of his eye, a knowing smile growing across his face.  They both jolted as Cameron tangled up with one of Mario's sweeper right in front of the goal, and Mario blew the whistle while Bailey watched Cameron get to his feet grimly, shooting Bailey a grimace before ducking his head.

Bailey rolled his eyes good-naturedly, clapping his hands and speaking, "Okay! I think it's time to stop before someone breaks something important.  And Cameron."  The boy paused and tensed, looking over to Bailey like he was bracing himself for a slap. Bailey shot Mario a long-suffering look before turning back to the preteen football wonder boy and smiling at him in exasperation, shaking his head, "Go eat lunch and take your overworked, underpaid teammates with you."

Cameron beamed at Bailey, catching his water bottle as Brends tossed it to him.  "My dear Coach, you are godsent.  Truly a god among men."

"Seriously," Bailey rolled his eyes, "I'm _this_ close to making you do the suicides you earned."

"Got it!" Cameron chirped back, face white.  Brends grabbed him from behind and none too gently shoved him in the direction of the dining pavilion while the team's Mexican goaltender, Diego, waved airily back at Bailey.  "He's got it. No suicides necessary."

Bailey watched his team go with amusement, mercilessly ribbing Cameron, as he collapsed onto the pitch, laying back and pulling out his cell phone.

**Salem:** I have acquired a roommate >.<

The message was accompanied by a picture of a man who could no doubt be the flat's original occupant, Craig (who some kind of burly, mountain man hipster), sprawled out on a beanbag chair surrounded by suitcases and boxes.  He was also basically naked with exception to the pair of Scottish flag boxers and the popcorn bits on his bare, hairy chest.  Despite Salem's obvious issues with acquiring a roommate in his minuscule studio flat, Craig looked nice enough, a smiling, red-haired woodcutter like the Scottish version of Kirk the Woodsman from _Hoodwinked_.

A water bottle appeared between him and his phone before he could compose a reply, and Bailey looked up at the Italian, graciously accepting the bottle and sitting up while Mario plopped down beside him.  They both drank in silence while Bailey typed out his reply.

**Bailey:** U adopted a scot. Does he hav a kilt?

"Girlfriend?" Mario inquired with an understanding smile.

Bailey laughed uneasily and shook his head, long hair brushing against his shoulder blades. _Fuck, I desperately need a haircut_. Not as badly as Salem needed one since his hair was about as long, thick, and colorful as Demi Lovato's (he'd gone hot pink for the summer).  "Not exactly…?" He hedged carefully while Mario raised his eyebrows.

**Salem:** The Scot adopted me. (His girlfriend dumped him).

**Salem:** And yes he has a kilt with the tartan of his family's historical clan or what have you. Idc.

Mario scoffed, "Your not-girlfriend have a name?"

Bailey glanced over at the Italian footie player blankly.  They'd played against each other before in the Club World Cup his rookie year, Mario playing for Internazionale in Milan and Bailey for Arsenal. They'd also met in Rio after Britain had ousted Italy in the qualifying rounds, Mario having gone to support two of his teammates who'd made the national team.  He'd hardly call them friends, certainly nowhere near enough to talk about his hypothetical relationship with the man, but they also weren't removed enough from each other for Bailey to tell him to fuck off.

Pity.

"Yes." Bailey said without saying anything more.

**Bailey:** Mean. <3 the tartan.

**Salem:** Have you been watching Outlander again?

**Bailey:** Yes

**Salem:** Thought so. 'Love the tartan' ridiculous.

Bailey laughed, then sighed. He missed Salem…a lot. More than he'd been expecting to. It had been a balm to know that Salem had gotten a work Visa since his start-up consumer electronics company had taken off without a hitch and had exploded upon its release, that he'd get to go home to his best friend.  But, despite texting near constantly in spite of the four hour time difference between Argentina and the UK, Bailey missed Salem.  He missed the Russo-Asian forcing him to go off his diet and getting him addicted to stupid ass reality tv (Bailey admitted freely to his fascination with _Botched_ but put his foot down when it came to _Rich Kids of Beverly Hills_ ) and the near constant tinkering on any electronic Bailey had the seriously poor mind to leave laying around and how he'd pop in, arms full of shopping bags, and declare imperiously that they were making some kind of baked treat to satisfy his perpetual sweet tooth.

Salem might be the only person Bailey knew who could literally _make_ time. The man barely got any sleep between being obsessive compulsive about software updates and experimenting, business meetings with his partners, investment banker, and accountant, and the list of people who suddenly wanting to talk to the next big thing in tech genius, but somehow always made time for Bailey.  It made Bailey feel even worse about his complete inability to give Salem more than athletic sex and friendship.  Salem was the kind of guy who answered business emails in pajama bottoms while sharing kettle corn (that he complained about _incessantly_ ) while watching polo, tennis, or rugby with Bailey despite knowing next to nothing about the sports and having even less interest in it.

Their friendship meant almost as much to Bailey as his hard won career did, which scared the ever-living shit out of him.  The list of things he wouldn't do for Salem being a small one, which didn't bother him half as much as the fact that Rafa wasn't speaking to him did. _Hadn't_ been speaking to him outside of practices since just before Valentine's Day, and Carey's only comment had been to 'give him time' before he'd been on the first plane to Belfast to spend the summer with his daughter and family.  He'd been ready to pursue the issue as he'd expressed to Salem while he'd been triple checking the dimensions of his theoretical next mobile phone and watching _The Internship_ until Salem had simply order, "Let it go," then promptly burst out into singing the Disney hit—entirely off-key—until Bailey had playfully smothered him with a pillow.

And so he had, primarily because Salem had told him to.

_That_ was a problem.

**Salem:** G2g get ready for my date :)

Bailey tensed and frowned down at the phone.  Salem dating? He hadn't said anything about it before, which either meant it had gotten serious that Salem deemed Bailey had to be appraised or Salem was being sarcastic about his many business meetings the way he tended to.  Somehow, Bailey doubted it was the latter.  His insides froze.

Mario slapped him, and he jolted out of his gut-clenching reverie to look up at him, wide-eyed. The Italian rolled his eyes, "Hey, I have a serious question…teach me how to juggle?" He cracked up, saying the words in the same rhythm as the song.

Bailey shook his head while Mario got to his feet effortlessly kicking the ball up and catching it. He tossed it to Bailey who rolled his eyes and simply retorted, "I don't think that's how the song goes," dropping the ball and passing it to Mario, forcing himself, just for a moment, to forget.

* * *

 

"Number of siblings?"

"Ten! Only kidding, I have one and that's Pete who thinks he's rockstar but he's just a punk rock fan girl. Okay…where have you lived?"

"Well, I was born in San Francisco, moved to Atlanta when my mom officially became a flight attendant, and then Boston for college, or well Cambridge I guess since that's _actually_ where MIT is, and then Westminster when I first moved here and now Camden.  Now…let me think…guilty pleasure movie?"

" _Fifty Shades of Grey_ , which, I'll admit is just as bad as the book was.  And…what's one thing you're both ashamed of but not if that makes any sense?"

Salem laughed and squatted, squinting at the row of books in front of him.  Romance books.  Historical romance books from the Victorian era because Salem's veritable and societal unsavory taste in reading material extended to nineteenth century smut. He took a moment to think over Spencer's question before deciding, "Yaoi.  Like it's whatever, I read that shit but I hide it every time my mother comes over because she and the rest of the world does no need to know about my obsession with homo smut."  Spencer barked out a laugh from where he sat cross-legged in the aisle, his nose buried into a _Black Butler_ volume. "Most embarrassing moment."

Spencer scoffed and peeked up to glare at Salem, "Take no prisoners, huh?" Salem laughed and shook his head while Spencer sighed and tilted his head back to look up at the ceiling. "I realized I was gay when I ejaculated in the middle of a party in sixth form in front of my friends and girlfriend while kissing my lab partner, Brian, during a game of spin the bottle. People weren't _mean_ about it, but I certainly never lived it down."

"I'd imagine not."

"Oh my God, shut up!" Spencer burst out, blushing furiously while Salem laughed and plucked a copy of Loretta Chase's _Silk is for Seduction_ off the shelf like the girl he secretly was.  "What's your guilty pleasure reality show?"

Then, it was Salem's turn to blush as he mumbled, " _Maury_ ," because yes, he enjoyed watching people make asses out of themselves on tv and got really into the whole is-he/isn't-he the father thing.  That didn't necessarily mean people needed to know…well, people beyond his footballer who he occasionally coerced into watching episode on Netflix in the same offhanded manner that had gotten him to watch _Kid_ _Nation_ before people had wussed out and said the show was scarring for kids participating.  Salem disagreed.

Spencer frowned at Salem, obviously not realizing what about _Maury_ made it so embarrassing to watch as that show was more fun but not as widely known of _Jerry Springer_.  Whatever, Salem was not about to enlighten him, which made Spencer sigh, "Do you even watch anything British?"

" _Gogglebox, Kitchen Nightmares,_ and _Downton Abbey_ ," He recited, the latter being entirely Bailey's fault. He never would have watched a period soap opera piece if not for Bailey's incessant "it's a _good_ show, _really_ good."

"How do you even get American programming?"

"Netflix," Salem shrugged.  Besides, they had a lot of the same program overlapping, not everything, but a lot.  Naturally what he couldn't find he streamed on iSeries or Netflix or the channel's website.  Lucky for him, _Outlander_ was being shown internationally. Double the luck, Bailey had been so thrilled it wasn't a reality show that he'd consented to watching it and had grown obsessed with minimal effort on Salem's part.

June was passing too slowly. Everyone of his friends where in school, including Spencer who wasn't strictly a friend but still. His business had turned into _work_ , work that he only escaped from by burying his head deep in his too tiny studio and citing testing for phase two prototypes as an excuse to be unreachable, with productivity meetings every other day and his inbox strangle-me-wish-I-wasn't-home full. Bailey had banished himself to Argentina until training camp started up again in late July. So he'd basically been working and apartment hunting since Michi had abandoned him for Tokyo two weeks ago. That and going on dates with Spencer in between his web design classes and after them.

What could he say?

Salem missed his best friends, Bailey in particular since his long time best friend, Charlie, tended to be his sounding board for his Bailey soap opera drama.  Actually, Salem was giving his bff the silent treatment since he'd abandoned Salem to shoot in Romania, which, okay, had not exactly been _his_ choice but whatever. Salem was choosing to hold a grudge about his friend's sheer lack of a life when Salem needed him most.

Even still, a month with Spencer.

He'd been dating Spencer a month, liked him well enough.  They got along despite Spencer's overwhelming personality and tendency to be outrageously pushy, which might be great in business and _almost_ endearing when they'd met but wasn't quite the same when they actually started spending time together.  He was a great kisser, an attentive boyfriend, fun and lively and energetic and adventurous but Spencer wasn't—

_Stop right there, asshole. You swore you wouldn't go there so don't.  Don't go there._

Right, exactly, he didn't need to compare Spencer to anyone.  He needed to have sex with him because the boy had been hinting and pulling out all the stops and being the embodiment of seduction long enough that Salem couldn't pretend he didn't know exactly what Spencer wanted.  Salem also couldn't have sex with Spencer, couldn't bring himself to sleeping with his boyfriend, which, yes, was really fucked up.  They were both adults who'd been together long enough that it shouldn't be an issue, especially since Salem was most definitely sexually attracted to the web design student despite what insecurities about it he _knew_ Spencer was nursing.

It just felt like cheating.

Which it wasn't, but it felt like sleeping with Spencer would be cheating on Bailey as if they were together.  Which they weren't because Bailey had commitment issues and didn't think his hush hush professional closeted sports lifestyle made him worthy of a genuinely loving relationship.  (I.e. Bailey had a whole host of personal and emotional issues he needed to overcome before becoming a real boy).  He'd offhandedly told Bailey he had a boyfriend, so concluding step one, but now, Salem needed to buck up and just fuck his boyfriend.

Doable.

Totally doable.

"Netflix?" Spencer frowned, shivering and shaking his head, "That Netflix has all that crap is almost more disturbing than you shipping Sebastien and Ciel, which is absolutely pedophilia."

Salem gaped. "Fuck you, SebaCiel is a thing, first of all.  Second of all, don't even front, they totally want to or are screwing.  I mean, the sexual tension, the innuendoes, the _everything_. Thirdly, pedophilia should be discounted as Sebastien is literally ageless, there has to be a cut off point."

"Ciel is fourteen…barely." Spencer pointed out.

"I'm amending: no religion, politics, or a man's ships.  I can't.  End of relationship!"

"Alright drama queen," Spencer teased, dropping the book beside him and leaning over to kiss Salem deeply.  "Does that mean no pizza and sleepover."

Salem hummed thoughtfully before kissing him back.  "Yes on the pizza.  But you'll have to work for that sleepover."  Spencer laughed and Salem kissed him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, I'm totally shipping Sebastien/Ciel from the Black Butler. They're just so cute, and Lizzy just makes me want to pull my hair out. I don't see it. Also, Bailey with kids...he's a scary fucker and way too serious about his football. Fact. And Salem's on a date with Spencer...


	20. "Let Her Go" by Passenger

**Text message from Bailey to Salem**

**Bailey:** I emailed u my itinerary

**Salem:** Who says I'm picking you up?

**Salem:** Guess who's back?

**Bailey:** Me?

**Bailey:** Ur picking me bcuz u luv me :*

**Bailey:** So i met some1...

**Salem:** What?!

**Salem:** No not you. Craig. His girlfriend kicked him out. Short-lived romance.

**Bailey:** Ok tht came out wrong.

**Bailey:** I made a friend.

**Salem:** Proper grammar AND a friend? You're such a big boy \O/

**Bailey:** He's 13.

**Salem:** This is just sad.

**Bailey:** Ur still picking me up rite?

 

**Text message from Salem to Spencer**

**Salem:** I gotta pick up my bff tomorrow.

**Spencer:** Is this u canceling our d8?

**Salem:** We had a date?

**Salem:** Jk. And yes. Sorry?

**Spencer:** That's an apology question?

**Salem:** :)

 

To: [**kingarthurb@gmail.com.uk**](mailto:kingarthurb@gmail.com.uk)

From: [**cameron76ham@gmail.com**](mailto:cameron76ham@gmail.com)

Subject: It's ME

Hi Coach! It's me, Cam, in all my exclamation point glory (Tanner says hi too->that's my roomie/bff). I'm back the US of A, and you're probably not home in the UK cause Tanner says that's a long ass flight and you probably had to change planes.  Anyway, I'm just saying hello and that I'm keeping up in my routines until school starts (cause Tanner's forcing me).

Your favorite future footballer

Cameron

 

**Bakar Bengochea (@BakaBasque04)**

Last season for me...who else is ready for pre-season to start up? #LetTheGoodTimesRoll

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

I'm so fucking excited!!!!!!!!!

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

Back in the UK. I'm just excited to be done with planes.

* * *

Salem was in a mood, not a _bad_ one per se, but one of those idiotically giddy moods that pisses off everyone around because they practically shit rainbows, unicorns, and puppies. _That_ kind of happy.

Bailey was coming home.

"It's not _training camp_ ," had been the words Bailey had spat like they were poison on his tongue, "just pre-season training. This is Premier League football not the NFL."  Of course, then Salem had been obligated to point out that baseball and the NHL, to his knowledge, all have training camps, which naturally resulted in a rude remark from the man in question about American sports.  It had devolved from there because Arsenal had a friendly pre-season game with Chelsea in _South Korea_ and "at least we just change states not _continents_."

But still, Bailey was coming home.

He hadn't been this excited since he'd been eleven and preparing for SeaWorld camp, because, yes, he was and always would be a SeaWorld baby regardless of _Blackfish_. Bailey's virtual reaction to that had equivocated shock/horror/"oh the hypocrisy", and Salem's response had been "like the PETA loving hippie you are, no clarity. None."  Bailey had laughed and proceeded to send him _every single_ anti-SeaWorld article ever writing in the history of _ever_.

And that alone had prompted a wave of nostalgia and longing that Salem had decided Spencer needed to know nothing about because having a tidal wave of tumultuous feelings for his secretly gay best friend with benefits was not cheating so long as Salem did nothing about it.  End of story. Point made.  And he wanted Bailey back.

And now he was…coming back, that is.

**Bailey:** I thnk customs thght i was a smuggler.

Salem snorted and leaned back in the seat of Bailey's borrowed Land Rover, bare feet propped up on the dashboard and his tablet in his work-in-progress tablet in his face, a tablet that was causing him a grief and dozens of angry emails considering how much of his valuable free time it took up.  Yeah, this piece of _Avatar_ range equipment would be the death of him, seriously.  That or the poor choice in early morning music, which tended to be _Love and Hip-Hop Atlanta_ ghetto fabulous or straight up techno at eleven am, which, frankly, no one wanted.

He reached over and sipped his third cup of black coffee, scrunching lower in his seat and trying to avoid the pair of eyes drilling into the side of his head because he was ostensibly _still_ sitting in the pick-up lane after thirty-five minutes, which the guard had told him with increasing severity was against airport policy.  The last time, he'd feigned having headphones in his ears, because it wasn't that serious for real.

**Salem:** Why? You leave your steroids in your pockets again?

**Salem:** I think this guard is about ready to arrest me.

And _that_ might not be exaggeration. The guard in question was glaring at him malevolently and had imperiously waved over a supervisor, drilling Salem through be sheer force of his eyes while having his whispered powwow with the sunglass wearing, wannabe mobster.

Whatever they were paying airport security these days, it was too much if they had the cajones to play bossman.

**Bailey:** Damn, yep tht must have been it :P

**Bailey:** U mean rent a cop wlkng ovr with swag?

**Bailey:** Better run. He looks srius.

Startling with little concern for the piece he was working on, Salem bolted up, eyes scanning the sidewalk for Bailey, brushing dismissively beyond the pair of puffed up suits walking with an abundance of swagger towards the car, to settle on the hunched man in a baseball cap with a Team UK duffel bag thrown over his shoulder in an outrageous display of nationalism and a _Criminal Minds_ t-shirt that he _had_ to have stolen from Salem.  Discretion was thy name when it came to Bailey. And what unsettled Salem the most about that was how he'd be able to spot Bailey if he was wearing a potato sack and one of those really cool African masks.

Such was life, and Salem didn't dwell on it.  _Couldn't_ dwell on it if he didn't want to drive himself halfway past Crazytown.

Bailey's liquid chocolate eyes met Salem's jade ones, and he broke out into a brilliant smile that made his heart hammer in his chest.  _You're like a little girl, Sale. Stop it.  Let's try for some maturity.  That'd be nice._ It would also be nice if he could get his raging emotions under his control before Bailey, who'd made a beeline for his own car upon seeing Salem, reached him…or the pair of airport security guards.

Belatedly, Salem realized it probably didn't help his image that he'd spent nearly forty minutes sitting in someone else's SUV outside the airport with Aviators on, his feet propped up, and wires and tiny equipment situated firmly in his lap as he tinkered. It might have given them the wrong idea as to what he was doing, which was _not_ building a bomb so long as he tucked everything into the circuit board the right way and didn't overload the tech, which might cause a teeny little harmless blast but, really, there was no intentional bomb building going on.  The most casualty that could come from _that_ would be credited to his poor dick that just happened to be right under where the equipment was resting in his lap.

The guards reached the car the same time as Salem who paused and slanted the pair of them a sideways look almost scathingly.  They both squirmed under his gaze the way a lot of people did.  Bailey had the uniquely singular talent of being able to make grown adults feel like idiotic shitheads just with his eyes, which was as impressive as it was vaguely nauseating.  He pointed at the passenger side door, "I'm just gonna…" his voice trailed off and both the guard and his supervisor cleared their throats and nodded.

"Right, yes."

"Of course, sir."

"Sorry."

"I'm sure." Bailey replied dryly, yanking open the door and tossing his duffel bag in the backseat as he folded himself into the seat.  Salem watched him, stomach twisting as he gazed at his exhausted best friend who groaned as he leaned back against the head rest.

Salem grinned, "How was your flight?"

Bailey glared at him. "Fucking long."

"Someone's cranky."

"Fuck you, Salem. That better be for me," Bailey pointed to the second cup sitting in the holder.

He shrugged. "Since when do you drink coffee?"

 "Since Argentina. Drive before we get ticketed by Tweedledum and Tweedledee over there."

He did, glancing over at dour-faced Bailey.  "I don't have access to high quality Argentinian coffee beans so you get Earl Grey. Lukewarm because customs is clearly not your forte."

"I have a special pass for customs," Bailey remarked tonelessly as he sipped his Earl Grey. Sighing blissfully and relaxing back in the seat as a contented smile played out across his face. Salem watched him out of the corner of his eye, trying not to break down crying like the little girl he just might actually be.  "They lost our flight's luggage for about twenty minutes.  Not my fault."

Crossing his eyes, Salem flipped the radio station aimlessly until Bailey slapped his hand away. He relinquished control with a sigh, running a hand through his hot pink hair and grimacing when Bailey flipped off the the sound altogether.  Bailey rested back against the seat, tension slowly draining out of his body to leave behind only exhaustion, eyes closed as he sipped his tea with one hand. Looking away from him, Salem reached out to grab Bailey's hand, lacing their fingers together over his knee and resting them there.

Silently, Salem ignored Bailey's long, probing look that he could feel burning through him and his own niggling conscience that reminded him about Spencer, his _boyfriend_ , who not only didn't know that Salem's best friend had spent almost half a year being his lover (or that his other best friend had been his boyfriend, which was a whole ton less problematic since neither he nor Charlie still carried around _that_ flaming Olympic torch of destruction) and would probably not be too accepting of the hand-holding regardless since it only ever served to fray Salem's nerve-endings beyond their usual levels of Bailey-alertness and light Salem's whole body into a raging inferno of hormones.

That might be a problem.

"You ready for training?"  Salem asked into the silence.

Bailey groaned, head thumping heavily against the window.  "Shut.  Up."

"So no then, I take it. You realize you start tomorrow, right?"

"Oh my God, are we _still_ talking about this?"

"It's not like it could be too terrible of a hard ship, besides your like twelve hour day, which we'll fix with tea, cupcakes, and your all time favorite movie marathon of Disney classics that I'll let your fall asleep to while I sing the songs and get crumbs in your bed.  You'll be fine, dandy, and prepared for your seven am wake up call to be on the practice pitch bright and early.  Also, you were training the whole summer basically, because you're the only person I know who vacations for their job by working.  Nobody loves their job _that_ much."

Now Bailey snorted, peering up from under his eyelashes at Salem.  "You do."

He pursed his lips and scowled at the road ahead of them, because, yeah, he kind of did love his job enough that he never actually stopped working.  Summer this year had been a fleeting dream thanks to his high-octane business partners and their needs to be hands-on 100% of the time. He'd allowed himself to be persuaded with the Harley's woe-is-me "it's a _start-up_ , do you know how much we could miss if we all just go off-grid for even two _weeks_?" Honestly, a lot less than she probably made it out to seem, like some kind of catacalysmic catastrophe, but even if he had taken up Michi's extended off to hop over to hang with him and his bandmates in Tokyo Disneyland, he'd have spent all his time not at the park working.

Salem sighed, "So you had fun?"

"Yeah," Bailey replied tiredly, "it was a lot of stress and drama and teen angst, but I like kids."

"You like kids you can give back."  Salem laughed.

His lips curved up in a smile as he nodded decisively, "Exactly.  Isn't that what I said?"

"Cameron sounded like a riot."

"Cameron was…the reason I won't have kids."

" _That's_ the reason you won't have kids? Hyperactivity?"

Bailey grinned impishly. "Well, that and I guess it's anatomically impossible, right?  I'm not the Virgin Mary."

"It's funny how I don't think lack of a partner is your biggest problem, anatomically speaking."

Bailey met Salem's eyes, fighting a smile, before they both cracked up, shaking their heads at how utterly ridiculous the whole conversation was.  Salem's eyes lingered, drinking in everything about Bailey from his overgrown hair (seriously, the boy needed a haircut) to his deeply tanned skin to the way his eyes crinkled at the corner when he laughed genuinely. He'd missed their easy repitoire almost as much as he missed Bailey's way of going from media darling to ice queen to scathing in a matter of sheer seconds that gave most people whiplash. Actually, Salem had kind of missed everything about Bailey more than he should have.

Charlie and Max had realized that pretty quickly, but Max had kept his mouth shut whereas Charlie had decreed, "I'm not going to like Spencer.  He won't be around long enough for me to like anyway once Bailey gets back," which was a little bit of an overstatement but not too far from the truth.

Salem liked to think that he knew himself pretty well.  And he knew exactly where Spencer stood in his life.  Where Bailey stood in his life.  And why neither of those things could be reconciled long term.

He'd made his peace with that.

Salem pulled into Bailey's driveway, waving to Bailey's neighbor who he'd spent way too much time getting to know while Bailey had been out of town, and watching as Bailey robotically grabbed his duffel bag and shuffled his way up to the front door like a zombie. He rolled his eyes and followed after him, snagging the keys from Bailey's jelly like fingers and opening the door.

"Go upstairs. Take a shower. Get changed.  I'll get you more tea."

Bailey nodded, dropping his duffel bag by the door and pressing a sloppy kiss to Salem's cheek before sluggishly starting upstairs.

For a moment, Salem just watched him go fondly before shaking himself out of whatever mood he'd found himself in.  It was probably a testament to how much time he spent at Bailey's, even in his absence, that his electronic tinkerings had taken up enough space on Bailey's little used and absolutely hideous marble dining room table to have some vague organization that included a couple small storage plastic cubbies Bailey had bought him weeks ago for his little tools and bolts.  He dropped his stuff on the table and headed down to the laundry room, dumping the contents of the duffel bag, sorting them with quick, practiced motions and sticking the whites in the wash before heading back up.

He managed to do all of that, make his Kona (with a little bit of Kalua) coffee and Bailey's tea, and forage in the cabinet for snacks all before Bailey had finished with his shower. He arrived back upstairs in time to find Bailey, shirtless with still dripping hair and basketball short, collapsing under his blankets, remote in hand, as he eyed Salem's laptop and scattered clothing articles skeptically.

Salem scoffed and handed Bailey his tea, dropping his own on the side table and stripping down, snagging a pair of wayward pajama bottoms and pulling them on.  Bailey sniffed.  "You live here now?"

"It's possible," Salem remarked, burrowing in close beside Bailey and throwing an arm over his shoulder as Bailey rested his damp head of hair on Salem's chest. "What are we watching?"

"The choice came down to _The Little Mermaid_ or _Frozen_ , but since I actually read the Hans Christian Anderson version, I don't think I can make it through the film without tossing something at the prince's head so…"

" _Frozen_ it is," Salem nodded with little argument, carding his fingers through Bailey's hair. They both fell silent as the movie started, the air electric with some kind of unspoken tension. He knew exactly what it was. Where it came from. "You know, the ice harvesters sing the answer to all their problems at the beginning of the movie."

"Christoff should have listened better."

"Indeed."

"You have a boyfriend."

Sighing, Salem leaned down and pressed a kiss to Bailey's forehead as he whispered hesitantly, "Yes."

"You told me about him once over an offhanded text and never mentioned him again." Bailey's voice was tight, controlled, angry.

"I know."

"Don't you think that's kind of fucked up, Salem?  Don't you think I had a right to know what I was coming home to?" Bailey practically spat the words at Salem who sighed but didn't entirely disagree.

Yes, Bailey had a right to know but…"Do you actually want to know about him?"

At that, Bailey fell silent, and Salem nodded, looking down at Bailey as he swallowed. He didn't think so. In response, Bailey swiped one of the mini cupcakes Salem had brought up, purchased for the singular occasion of Bailey's homecoming, knowing full and well tomorrow Bailey would pout and bitch about how 'letting' him eat 'that processed crap' had screwed up his nutrition plan.  Salem had gotten used it, had gotten used to brushing off Bailey's concern with a smile and a shrug. Bailey didn't want to know about Spencer, not like Spencer wanted to know about Bailey who Salem talked about a hell of a lot more than he should, more than most people talked about their absentee best friends who were in other countries, out of sight and most often out of mind.

"Are you shagging him?"  Bailey demanded point blank, tone biting.

Salem fell silent, eyes drifting up to the ceiling and narrowing, because yes, Salem was. It was inevitable because he was not a monk, not a big believer in abstinence, and an adult in a monogamous relationship.  He and Spencer didn't have the same connection or passion or intensity when it came to the sexual component of their relationship, a component that had barely existed for two weeks.  They didn't know each other or each other's bodies like Salem and Bailey did.  It wasn't the same, not that Salem should be comparing, but they did have sex.  They were in a relationship.  And Bailey already knew.

"You don't really want to know that."

Bailey laughed bitterly and nodded his head, looking up at Salem and holding his gaze. "You're my best friend."

"I know."

He opened his mouth and hesitated, looking up at the ceiling and swallowing hard while Salem's heart lurched painfully.  Bailey tried again. "I want give you…but I _can't_."

Salem nodded and carded his fingers through Bailey hair gently, replying softly and sincerely, "I know."

"I don't want to meet him."

Salem nodded and pressed another kiss to Bailey's forehead, breathing against his skin, "Okay."    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being watched like a hawk because you've been waiting too long...yeah, that's happened to me. First it's creepy. Then it's uncomfortable. Whatever. And who so saw this Spencer/Salem/Bailey issue coming? ME!


	21. "Come With Me Now" by Kongos

To: theghostsofsalem@gmail.com

From: elena.gould@rightmove.co.uk

Subject: More spaces

Mr. Petrov,

I've found a couple more spaces that fit your criteria (between 4000/5000 sq ft, £350-600 per month). Let me know a date and time you're available to take a look at them at your earliest convenience.

Best,

Elena Gould

 

**Arsenal's triumph**

The Premier League pre-season is shaping up to be almost as exciting as the FIFA World Cup this year, especially for Arsenal fans. In true dramatic flare, team captain Bakar Bengochea announced his upcoming retirement at the end of the year via Twitter following his summer engagement to girlfriend, Alisa Carmine, before playing one of the best games of his life—pre-season, regular season, or otherwise. Carey Ahearn looks to be in the best shape of his career both professionally and personally as he opens with a shutout in their first scrimmage against Tottenham Hotspur upon making up and moving into his Primrose Hill pad with baby mama and baker, Molly Sloan, and his daughter.  Rafael Correa and his entire defensive line have been an unstoppable force on the field, and, in true style, Arthur Bailey has been incredible if nothing more special than his usual brand since returning from a month training youth elite football players in Argentina.  Now the team's onto Milan for their next scrimmage, and Arsenal fans seem to be chomping at the bit to see what they do this year.

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

Congrats to @ChangesGeorgia @FatherMax @PrettyBoyBas @Spence1x7 @D_Crawfish @HarleyBhat @RAB_Lexton on graduating from uni

 

**The Daiki Company (@TheDaikiCo.)**

Congratulations to 3 of our execs graduating from uni today @HarleyBhat @D_Crawfish @RAB_Lexton

 

**Georgia Hanson (@ChangedGeorgia)**

Today's the day! My graduation! I love you daddy and thanks for encouraging me to reach for my dreams <3

 

**Text message from Spencer to Salem**

**Spencer:** My parents are coming.

**Salem:** No. Nope. Negative. I'm not a meet the 'rents kind of guy.

**Spencer:** Sale, youre gr8

**Salem:** Too soon. I'll run. I'm a runner. Roadrunner

**Spencer:** Babe seriously.

**Salem:** I'll think about it.

* * *

**Bailey:** I want 2 learn flamenco.

**Salem:** That was almost a proper sentence. Aside from capitalization and unnecessary numbers.

**Bailey:** That was me telling u ur learning flamenco with me.

**Salem:** Yeah. No, I got that.

This was, of course, the kind of shit that happened when Bailey went to Milan for a friendly scrimmage or game or whatever the hell before the start of the official season. He, apparently, decided he was secretly destined to be a Flamenco dancer or some other kind of inane shittery. Yeah, Salem wasn't buying it…at all.  He didn't even like music, in what world would he ever have rhythm enough to dance?

But, yes, Salem did automatically flip to Google Chrome to search for a list of Flamenco schools in London, because he had no backbone.  Honestly.

**Bailey:** R u bored yet?

Bailey, God love him, was a total ass when he wanted to be.  Massive bastard.

His spiriting away for pre-season training/scrimmage with Milan's football team had been preceded by an invitation for Salem to come too.  Salem had been eternally confined for metropolitan London since he'd stepped into the country despite his mother's constant nagging that he go visit other European countries.  He'd had school then Bailey then a job.  Now, instead of traipsing around Milan Salem was wasting daylight watching everybody except him graduate from university.

That is to say, every one of his business partners, Max, Georgia, Spencer, and Sebastian.

**Salem:** Going through a mid-life crisis.

**Bailey:** Isnt it a little early 4 tht?

No, Salem really didn't think so.

He just felt displaced. Left behind.  Like life was moving on without him, which was a feeling generally only felt by women in their mid-thirties who wake up next 2.5 kids doing carpool and PTA meetings.  Okay, Salem's own feelings weren't quite that extreme but it was a near thing.

College had been Salem's _thing_.  He excelled at school, always had, because he was smart, picked up quick, and had enough of a strategic mindset to navigate the administrative politics and the student body intrigues.  He'd always been the smart teacher's pet, the charming ladies' man (back before he'd realized that it hadn't been reciprocal on his end), and talented enough that he could slide through his classes with ease. Salem enjoyed learning. Enjoyed classrooms filled with people he'd never have a reason to know or talk about anywhere else. MIT had been a perfect fit for him.

He'd had plans.

MIT undergrad. Google internship. CalTech postgrad. Apple internship and maybe Microsoft if he could swing it.  A couple years working for whichever one he favored before setting his sights on Silicon Valley or San Francisco with his own start-up.

It was a fluid plan, to suit his tastes, but had a clear outline, direction, which he needed.

Then it all went to shit, which had, of course, been all Salem's fault, but he honestly hadn't expected anyone to _like_ what he'd created. He understood how cutting edge his tech was, but he'd never thought anything would come from it, hoped but never expected.

Suddenly Salem had business partners who needed to be paid, investors to keep happy, suppliers who wanted information, and vendors who had deadlines.  There was press and pressure and money and products. He had people to answer to and demands to be met and public and unforgiving media, which wasn't _People_ or the _Enquirer_ but _Forbes_ and _The Economist_ and _The New York Times_ who would rip him to shreds, not his reputation but _him_ and his mind and his business and the dream he'd nursed since childhood.

Suddenly, college was a hindrance to what he _should_ be doing because disappointed looks from his professors weren't nearly as damaging as Nicholas chewing him out for taking a week and a half to reply to an email marked URGENT, like they _all_ weren't marked that way.

It was a comment to how technologically obsessed society was that they'd churned out profits big enough and had enough orders that Regulus had shown up on his doorstep at ass o'clock in the morning, said that China had called, and they needed to get their shit together, hire personnel and get an actual office space.

Salem couldn't finish college, there was no time, because China hadn't been the only one calling despite some ridiculous time difference to ask if Daiki Co. products could be stocked and sold in a department store.  _That_ had become commonplace, which found him and Harley sitting at a conference room table with their on-the-fly hire, high-powered corporate lawyer debating pricing at three in the morning while Salem mainlined coffee like it was his oxygen and Harley snuck finishing up her paper between translation lag times (it had been a relief for both parties when Salem had told Japan he could speak enough to get by as long as they used small words).  He'd spent his last two weeks of classes looking at potential office spaces with Craig and/or Charlie.

Seeing everyone graduate was bittersweet despite how much success he's found himself enjoying, but he couldn't go back to MIT, didn't have time to finish his degree, and wondered if this is what Bailey had felt when he'd left boarding school for the Premier League only to see his schoolyard playmates married and settled with families.

**Salem:** The worst part's over. It's almost party time O.O

**Bailey:** I thght u liked parties .-.

**Salem:** Have you ever been to a graduation party?

**Bailey:** For uni? Nope

Salem hadn't either, admittedly.

But he'd been to plenty high school graduation parties, and none of them––save Georgia's for all the reasons––had been memorable beyond mind-numbing tediousness.  After all, Max's Cajun brood had flown in for him. Sebastian's sister had skipped verbally abusing Arsenal in Milan to watch her only brother get his Master's degree. Georgia's newest boyfriend and her cousin (one of the only members of her family besides her terminally ill father who still talked to her) had shipped in as had Harley's family and arranged fiancé(who Salem actually liked), Regulus's (two) significant others (who knew about each other and made up so weird love triangle) and his parents and step-parents (who all got all unusually well), and Dane's girlfriend, her family, and his. Then there was Spencer who no doubt wanted Salem to meet the parents, which he'd avoid like the plague until he got drunk when Spencer wouldn't want him to meet them at all.

Solid plan of attack.

**Salem:** I get to go to 2.

**Salem:** 1 for the Westminster friends and one for the King's business partners.

**Bailey:** Want me 2 throw u 1 for being awesome?

**Salem:** Nope. Someday I'll go back and get my degree.

**Bailey:** Do it now.

**Salem:** Can't.

**Bailey:** U could if u wanted 2. But u dont. Ur ready 2 b done.

And there went Bailey being deep and knowing more about Salem than he particularly cared to think about. Salem swallowed hard and sent off a quick conversation disseminator:

**Salem:** G2g.

**Bailey:** Umhm. call me when ur freak out is ovr.

_Well, there you go._

* * *

 

By the time Salem made his way from Le Relais de Venise, the French restaurant in Westminster where Bastian, Max, and Georgia were throwing _their_ graduation celebration (where Bastian's sister, Caroline, had studied him over the rim of her glasses through narrowed knowing eyes and Georgia's boyfriend, Kyle, had behaved like the pretentious wannabe model pretty boy he _was_ ) Salem was on the edge.

When he reached Jamie's, the Italian restaurant the four of them (plus Spencer who'd somehow finagled his way into sharing a party with them all) decided on, the first thing Salem did was order a Guinness at the bar, down it like a shot, and overtip the amused bartender because he probably shouldn't have done that if he didn't want to look like the lush he was absolutely on his way to becoming in one night. Only once he'd fortified himself, the alcohol settling into his system, did he push through the doors of the private room.  His eyes landed first on Spencer across the room, talking animatedly with a older version of him and a petite blonde and gray haired woman.

Salem balked and swerved right into Harley who caught him one-handed and automatically, eyeing him up and down before turning to grin at her parents and fiancé. "Mum, Bapu, this is Salem Petrov, Daiki Company's CEO and creator.  Salem, this is my mother, Jassi, my father, Samir, and my fiancéwho I believe you already met, Nihal."  She cleared her throat nervously and slanted a sideways look at Salem.

Samir spoke first, kindly, "You're the man who has given our Harleen such a lucrative job."

"I…well…yes? Not really." Samir and Jassi frowned, meeting each other's eyes questioningly while Nihal stifled an amused smile behind his glass and Harleen sighed, eyes drifting upwards.  Whoops.  "It's just…I hadn't exactly planned on starting a business, and, frankly, if Harley," she coughed, and Salem quickly corrected, " _Harleen_ hadn't helped me get Daiki's financials in order there wouldn't have been a job to give her.  She's my business partner…one of them.  I'm not very good with managing much more than my checking account, and even that's questionable."

 Jassi smiled at her daughter and patted her cheek.  "That's our Harleen.  Brilliant mind."

He nodded slowly, raising his eyebrows at Harley and shooting a look to Nihal. Nihal was the epitome of modern day Punjabi and nowhere near as conservative as would be expected from hearing the words 'arranged marriage' associated with him.  The first time they'd met had been the night he and the Bhattals had gotten into town.  Harley had invited him out with the young Daiki execs, and Nihal had shown up with a draft beer the size of his head, tugged the end of Harley's ponytail in greeting as he sat down, and looked around the table of raised eyebrows with his own. Upon Regulus's very careful "aren't you a Muslim?" question, Nihal had smiled wanly, gulped back his beer, and said, "Yes, your point being?"

They'd decided they liked Nihal.

"Right, Nihal, what is it you do again?"  Salem asked bluntly while Harley discreetly crush his toe with the heel of her stiletto.

Nihal just smiled, bemused, "I work in HR for an import/export company in India."

Salem nodded, "Isn't that stereotypical spy job?"

"Salem," Harley hissed while he parents looked affronted.

Nihal just laughed. "Not that I don't believe international espionage wouldn't be a fun pursuit, but I don't have the stomach for it. I actually work human resources for a shipping company, mainly exporting Indian made products to places like the UK and the US.  I'm not entirely sure what we _import_ , but my job is to manage people so it's never been a particular concern."

"Nice," Salem nodded, "I'm about to be in need of an HR department if Regulus and Harley…Harleen, sorry, have their way.  They want me to hire the entire eastern seaboard."

"It's not like we don't have the money," Harley argued.

Salem shrugged. "I never said that we didn't."

"Apparently I'm job hunting in London since I agreed, didn't I?" Nihal shot a look to Harley who sighed dramatically while Nihal's lips quirked.

Dane nodded in greeting to Jassi and Samir before looking between Salem and Harley.  "Eastern seaboard?  You realize you currently reside in London not Boston, right?"

"Unfortunately, yes, I do know that."  Salem looked back at Nihal thoughtfully, "I'd say you could give Regulus a call, but he's right here and so am I so…"

"Spontaneous job interview?"  Nihal inquired, more than a little amused.

Salem shrugged, and Harley skipped subtle altogether and backhanded Salem in the stomach in front of her parents and fiancé, though the latter neither cared nor look surprised by her reaction.  "Salem, seriously?  This is a graduation party!"

"Reg!" Dane shouted, flagging down their wayward COO from his powwow with his polyamorous buddies.  Regulus looked up and nodded, excusing himself as he made his way over.

Salem glanced down at Harley. "I'm networking. Isn't that what you're supposed to do at parties?"

Regulus chose that moment to arrive, cutting off whatever biting remark Harley was about to make. His eyes skipped between everyone, settling on Harley's parents who he nodded to in silent greeting while they shared a quick glance.  He turned his gaze away from them and settled on flitting back and forth between Salem and Harley, stopping on the former.  "Spencer's looking for you."

"Oh f––" Harley pinched him.  "Fudge," he finished lamely.  "He wants me to meet his parents," Salem told Regulus under his breath. Regulus and Dane stifled laughter. Salem rolled his eyes and turned to Regulus.  "Reg, Nihal. Nihal, Regulus. Reg, meet our new head of HR. Feel free to hire those people you've been hounding me about incessantly but only _after_ we all agree on an office space."

Nihal startled. Regulus nodded, "Great."

"That wasn't an interview."

Dane shrugged, "Nihal meet Salem.  He's a man of action."

Salem waved a hand dismissively.  "I'm sure you're qualified."  He turned to Harley.  "He's qualified, isn't he?"

"You're such a tool." Harley replied while her mother coughed in alarm, and her father raised his eyebrows.  She colored.

"You need a head of HR? How many people are you hiring?"

"Not that many," Salem said simultaneously with Regulus's emphatic, Harley's drone, and Dane's serious, "A lot."  They all paused, and Salem tipped his head back with a sigh before giving Nihal and Harley's parents a long suffering look.  "This is why with Nick suggested a board, I told him flat out no. I'd hate to pull a Christian Grey but I own my business.  I don't want to take orders from a board too, bad enough I've got the Three Musketeers over here."

"Musketeers?" Dane asked archly before grinning, "Excellent.  We were _this_ close to being Stooges, you know?"

Nihal frowned, "Do you _need_ that many employees?"

Salem shook his head and rolled his eyes while Harley exploded.  "Yes!  When Apple first came into fruition––"

"A million years ago," Dane muttered, rolling his eyes.

"1976," Salem smirked and shook his head.

"––their revenues doubled every four months, about a 700% growth rate for the first five years.  Which is incredible. Astounding.  Insanely insane.  And that was firmly in America before widespread technology usage and international shipping from the web was even a possibility for the average consumer."

"I thought we weren't supposed to talk business at your graduation party," Salem sighed while Dane snickered.

"Shut. Up."  Harley shot Salem a poisonous look while her parents gaped at her ferocious tone.  "The adults are talking."  Salem raised up his hands in a gesture of surrender, and Harley rolled her eyes, turning back to Nihal who glanced between them, extremely amused.  " _And_ that was only selling one product, the Apple I, a motherboard that was basically the 1976 equivalent of a personal computer.  It sold for almost $700."

"Are you sure you're not a business major because I _just_ wrote my thesis on this," Regulus remarked.

Harley glared at him. "I'm aware. I read it."

"Really?" Regulus beamed while Salem rolled his eyes.

She ignored him. "We're selling two mobiles, a reader, an mp3 player, a tablet, and a laptop, cutting edge tech that looks like we stole it straight out of an episode of _Star Trek_.  In a global consumer market not to mention the charging stations, wireless earbuds/bluetooth devices, and the clip-on keyboard, then the software he made that can be bought and downloaded.  As far as products go, the least expensive thing is the Cube, which is £150, that's $250 in the US, $270 in Australia and Canada, ¥25,750 in Japan, ¥1500 in China, and €190 in mainland Europe.  And hell, when we _officially_ released _that_ product in China and Japan a month ago that _one_ product sold out of a store in three _hours._   Never mind the people who'd bought it straight from the site earlier and had it shipped there."

Nihal balked, and Salem shook his head.  "Awesome. Excellent.  Are we done talking about this?  I'm awesome.  We did the impossible. I _get_ it."

"Do you?" Harley snapped back.

"Salem! Baby, there you are," was all Salem heard before Spencer had whirled him around and drawn him into a long, deep kiss _right in front of everyone_.  Spencer pulled back and grinned at a gaping Salem. Harley looked heavenward. Jassi collapsed on her shellshocked husband.

Nihal nodded, "Who wants a drink?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meet Harley's fiancé, Nihal! Nihal is also from Punjab, he's also Muslim (loosely). You just don't hear about a lot of Muslims who just go to mosque and then go whatever to the rules. You hear it about cafeteria Catholics and some of my friends were way way way unorthdox Jews but you don't actually hear it about Muslims. So meet Nihal who is just really really awesome.


	22. "Besitos" by Pierce the Veil

**Text message from Spencer to Salem**

**Spencer:** You've got 2 be kidding. Tell me this is a joke

 **Salem:** Sorry. I promised.

 **Spencer:** Me. You promised me you'd come out to the pub to meet my mates, Salem.

 **Salem:** My best friend needs me. I've got to go to the Arsenal v ManU game

 **Spencer:**...wtf? U said this was for your bff.

 **Salem:** Yeah...

 **Spencer:**...by 'Bailey' you don't mean THE Arthur Bailey?

 **Salem:** O_O

 

**Bailey just gets better**

No onne thought it possible but it seems the press does actually get it wrong sometimes. 19 year old Arsenal forward said before the first regular season game that he's in great shape and really feels prepared for the year. We didn't believe him. We were wrong. Bailey was spectacular during Arsenal's home game opener despite not scoring once. He had dozens of dangerous shots on goal, rattling the confidence of both Manchester's rookie goaltender and their veteran defensive line. The you star created plays out of air, amazing to watch. When asked about his newly minted magic touch on the field, he replied, "I learned a lot from the kids in Argentina, maybe more than they learned from me. They play with a lot of heart, a lot of joy, and a lot of creativity since they don't have years of technique drilled into their heads. If you think outside the box, the whole field just changes." Sounds...yeah, I don't know, but it seems to be working for him so from one Arsenal fan to my favorite player, keep it up.

 

To: theghostsofsalem@gmail.com

From: theharleenquinzel@gmail.com.pk

Subject: The Piccadilly Office

Just confirming payment of the Piccadilly office space (the receipt is attached). We're clear to move in starting Friday, August 25.

On another note, I need two weeks off to pack up mine and Nihal's belongings and have them shipped from Punjab to our flat. And if it's possible, I'd prefer that we hire on a vp for my department before then so important things don't fall to the wayside while I'm gone. Let me know.

Harley

 

**Text message from Spencer to Salem**

**Spencer:** Italian 2nite?

 **Salem:** Going to Bailey's game then maybe out with the team.

 **Spencer:** Ok...will I ever meet Bailey?

 **Salem:** Probably not.

 **Spencer:** Why?  Shouldn't I meet the guy you keep blowing me off for?

 **Salem:** Bailey's Bailey.

 **Salem:** Leave it alone, Spence.

* * *

"I fucked up."

Bailey was a terrible friend, a fact he'd reconciled himself to the first time Kanani had flirted for _hours_ with some strawberry blonde French chick at a bar in a seedy dive bar they'd been at in Southampton and Bailey had killed in seconds when the chick in question had realized Kanani was _that_ Kanani, as in _really_ famous footballer Arthur Bailey's rumored Kanani that had been proven in her own mind when Bailey had bought Kanani's Tom Collins for her.  He hadn't exactly stepped in to create that rumor, and a year later they'd only just 'gone their separate ways'.

Gone their separate ways so much that Bailey had sought her out on a Saturday night even after she'd sent him a text saying: **Dinner @ The Crabtree. Dont need me.** _That_ was basically a neon sign screaming that she wanted privacy and maybe some well-deserved time away from Bailey.  Understandable but decidedly not in the cards all things considered.  It had just been a bad week that ended in bad decision, and now he needed guidance before he made worse ones.  And his typical go-to guy for these kinds of things was busy making calls to Canada…or the problem.  Whichever.

There hadn't even been pause between reading the email and getting in his car to hightail it from home to the Crabtree all the way out by the Thames River.  Not to change into something even mildly respectable, which his baggy basketball shorts most decidedly were not nor his equally baggy and sweat-dried Joker tank top…that wasn't even his but one of the many clothing articles that had migrated from Salem's flat to Bailey's house.

And Kanani, in her cap sleeve Betsey Johnson dress and nude Louboutin stilettos, looked like she didn't know what to be more unimpressed with: his attire or the fact that he'd stolen a chair from another table and plopped himself down at her table between her and her red haired Scottish dame of date (with a kilt and everything) like he actually belonged there.  She blinked at him, took a sip of her wine, and said in a stilted tone that brooked no argument.

"I'm on a date."

Bailey took a deep breath and looked over at the redhead who pursed her lips thoughtfully, giving him a little finger wave before her emerald eyes should back to Kanani who sighed. He turned back to Kanani. "I know."

Kanani nodded and pointedly placed her wineglass back on the table.  "I know you know.  I sent you a text message.  That said not to need me. And not only do you not give a shit. You _came here_ where I'm on a date. With Catriona. Not you."

He nodded his head and ran shaking fingers through his hair.  "I know, I know, I do and I'm sorry, but Nani, I _really_ fucked up. And I need to talk to you."

"Right this second? This couldn't wait until _after_ my date?"

"How long was 'after your date' gonna take?"  Bailey demanded, and Kanani snapped her mouth shut.  He turned to Catriona, awaiting an answer.

Catriona nodded her head and shrugged, admitting honestly, "Hopefully quite a while. This isn't our first date. You clearly need to talk to your best friend. I can wait."

"Thank you." Bailey said profusely, turning back to Kanani, "Can I talk now?"

            Kanani heaved a long-suffering sigh and waved a hand airily, handing Bailey her wineglass, which he gulped down while Catriona raised her eyebrows, impressed.  Kanani just watched him in stony, judgmental silence, weighted and angry.  He got that, really. She sighed, face softening as she realized how genuinely distressed he was.  "Where's Salem?  Isn't he your usual go-to confessor?"

Bailey's whole body tightened, stomach twisting painfully.  Catriona offered her own wineglass, and he took it gratefully and down that too. "That's part of the problem."

* * *

 

_Tuesday_

"It's not working," Salem groaned, tossing his tiny screwdriver across the floor where he sat hunched over the slab of wires and semi-transparent plexiglass pieces pouting. Jade eyes looked up and locked on Bailey who'd found a pull-up bar in the closet of gymnasium and hooked up between the kitchen and living room to watch Salem bitch as he worked and frown at the recorded Everton v. Sunderland game through narrowed eyes. "Are you listening to me?"

Bailey rolled his eyes and released his hold on the bar, dropping to the floor and quirking an eyebrow. "I…yeah?" Salem pursed his lips doubtfully. Bailey laughed and shook his head, "Okay, so no.  But you've spent the last hour and a half yelling at inanimate objects and cursing your inability to make them work the way you want them to.  I thought it was alright if I tuned you out so I could count. Was that not alright?"

Sighing, Salem dropped back to sprawl across Bailey's floor, glaring up at the ceiling. "It's not _going_ to work the way that I want it to.  I have to find a way to use some kind of hybrid semi-transparent plexiglass as a medium for a screen, make sure the image on screen can't be seen from the opposite side of the device, through it unless I _want_ it to, and hide the wires. And Bastian and Max moved back to Paris so Bastian could start his job working for the Louvre and Max could begin his internship shooting for some Parisian fashion magazine before he decides to go freelance.  Craig moved into their old room with Kanani and Georgia who's still in London and her dad keeps calling me about her because now she's not even _taking_ his calls. Harley's pissed off at me because her homophobic parents––who are Sikh so that shouldn't even be a _thing_ _––_ saw Spencer plant one on me in the middle of a graduation party.  And I can't even talk to you about that because you don't want to know anything about Spencer."

Sighing, Bailey shook his head and ran his fingers through his short hair, scowling. His first impulsive decision of the month had been getting his hair cut before the start of the season _way too short_.  Salem had balked for a moment before composing himself and nodding before saying, "You look like…classy…expensive…prep school."  Kanani and Carey had been decidedly less diplomatic, both of them proclaiming "The _fuck_ did you do."  Rafa had barely spared him a passing glance, brushing passed him coldly in the locker room while the rest of the guys ribbed him for "finally trying to become an adult."

In the almost three weeks since Arsenal's opening home game, it had grown out into short, boyish curls raven curls that made him look like he was thirteen again and living it up in boarding school, flitting between polo, football, and lacrosse like the preppy posh brat he'd been.  Kanani and Salem had both shown up the first game and the third when they'd been at home, and if Salem had promised to do anything with Spencer, he'd never said a word about it.

Bailey _didn't_ want to hear it, Salem had been right about that.  Didn't want to know what he did with Spencer or their inside jokes or the way they behaved together or if Spencer was some sappy die-hard romantic whose life revolved around a man that didn't belong to him, that _should_ belong to Bailey. True to his word, Salem never mentioned him, and Bailey never asked.

Aside from their lack of sex, nothing changed including their otherwise intimacy, which danced borderline on cheating but always backed off before it could cross. Salem didn't even seem _aware_ that he was doing it. The touching, the innocent but simultaneously sultry kisses on the cheek and shoulder and temple and forehead, the way they fell all over each other, the biting, and the teasing, and whatever, none of it even seemed to cross Salem's mind as inappropriate until after the fact.

They planned and they hung out and on nights when Salem wasn't with his boyfriend he was tangled in the sheets of Bailey's bed with Bailey's head in his lap while they commentated on reality television or sung Disney show tunes.  Their most notable moment being their impromptu musical during their Lion King movie marathon.  _That_ had been a good time. He was a big white elephant in the room, but Bailey had been content to push him out of sight and out of mind where he could pretend the man didn't exist.

So far, it was working.

Until now.

Until Salem's abrupt freak out that made a hell of a lot of sense then all of the sudden spiraled out of control.

"You're absolutely mental, you know that?  What _are_ you going on about now?" Bailey remarked, snagging his water bottle off of the corner of the table and shaking his head, growing more and more agitated with each passing second.

"I'm talking about the part of my life that I can't even share with you because you don't want to hear. I'm talking about how I have to constantly check myself and censor myself so that I don't say something to upset you. I'm talking about how you're one of my best friends and I want to tell you _everything_ and I can't because you won't let me, because it'll hurt you and somewhere along the way irrational things that hurt you mattered to me!  I'm talking about how I fucked schedule already, and I have to constantly shuffle my whole life around you because I can't just tell you I have a date. I'm talking about how I can't hang out with everyone I care about together because you don't want to know Spencer for having what you don't even want."

 _That_ set him off.

Bailey shook his head angrily and stomped into the kitchen, hearing but trying to ignore the whole conversation, block out of his head because the last thing he wanted to do was pick a fight with Salem, but it was getting there and rapidly.

He didn't want him.

 _Bailey_ didn't _want_ Salem.

Ludicrous. Ridiculous.  If he was anyone other than a chickenshit teenage football Premier League superstar media darling laden with expectations and public pressure, he'd have dragged Salem to Vegas the moment after their first shag, wedded him and bedded him and even adopted a brood of multicultural orphans from across the globe if that's what he wanted.  Because Salem mattered.  Bailey cared.  He wanted the Russo-Japanese American young genius like _always_.  All the time.  He wanted to bottle the arsehole up, stick him in his pocket, and carry him with him everywhere because Salem was _Salem_ and no one could ever be…more, worth more, or better, which was way to sappy for him to ever articulate which could be part of the problem.

Bailey was not about to elucidate his feelings _now_ when he wasn't quite sure what _exactly_ they were or how far down the rabbit hole he'd fallen, and Salem was on an unnecessary warpath.

Salem followed him into the room, arms crossed over his chest as he glared at the man malevolently. "Seriously? I'm trying to have an actual adult conversation with you about our relationship and our issues, and you're running away."

Shaking his head sharply, Bailey slammed the door of his refrigerator closed and tossed the caesar salad take out on the counter, pointing the bottle of ranch dressing Salem. The American raised his eyebrows, eyes darting down at the bottle, and Bailey huffed, tossing it angrily back on the counter too.  "I'm not 'running away', first of all.  Second of all, don't pull the 'you're a child' bullshit now.  That ship sailed when you _fucked_ me.  You stuck your dick in my arse and fucked me so, you know, shut the fuck up.  _You_ have no right to try and talk down to me about my maturity.  Alright?"

They were both fuming, but his years playing nice with the press had made his age and maturity a hot button for Bailey.  'Temper tantrums' and 'babying' and all the bullshit that came along with being hugely talented at such a young age just made that a particularly sensitive subject.

Which Salem knew well enough.

Bailey could tolerate him picking fights, but he was not about to sit back and let Salem tear him down. He'd a lifetime of people he cared about preying on his insecurities.  Salem would not be added to that list.

"Now, you listening? We don't _have_ a relationship because I––what was it you said?––don't want one.  And we don't have issues because you're perfect, and I'm a robot.  Are we done yelling and snapping and poking and prodding or do you actually have something of merit to say?  Or do you want to talk about your sex life with some uni student who wants to work for your company or did you think I didn't know that? Since you want to share all about him, here's the question of the week, that Hipster tart is obviously a slag so do you shag him without a condom too?"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Bailey flinched.  A hit below the belt…several actually.  Salem winced and looked absolutely betrayed.  He wasn't done though, and he needed to be.  Bailey needed to breath away from Salem and his issues, issues that were almost as numerous and disintegrating as Bailey but a lot less straightforward.

"Don't take whatever mood you're having about your broken toy out on me.  I've done nothing but support you and care about you so don't stand here in _my_ home and make ridiculous accusations. _I'm_ not the problem here so, I ask again, are were done?"

For a long moment, Salem stared at him, the struggle clear in his eyes before he gave a humorless, bitter laugh and nodded his head, running a shaking a hand through his hair. "Yeah.  Yeah, don't worry about it Bailey.  We're done.  I get it. I'll take my broken toy home to my uni student boyfriend who at least has better character than my best friend who apparently thinks I'm a dirty fucking shithead manwhore. Whatever.  Have a nice life asshole."

            Bailey's hands gripped the marble countertop, head bowed, listening as Salem grabbed his prototype off the floor and stalked down the hallway, flinching as the door slammed shut behind him. 

* * *

 

_Friday Night_

Carey deposited himself on the seat next to Bailey, gaping at him for a moment.  His eyes darted between the mobile he was flipping in his hand and the massive Guinness he'd been nursing since the team got to the bar _hours_ ago. Bailey didn't even glance over at him, swallowing down the last of the beer and signaling the bartender for another one.

The bartender eyed him skeptically and looked to Carey.  Bailey shook his head and slammed his palm down on the counter.  "Mate, don't look at him for approval like he's my fucking father.  I'm of age. Give me my motherfucking beer. And you, wanker, don't say a––"

"No." Carey shook his head at the bartender, sliding a twenty pound note across the counter, he nodded an apology at the bartender as he sat down beside Bailey.  "Are you drunk?"

"Do you know why Rafa hates me?"

Carey fell silent, sighing and tilting his head back to look at the ceiling before answering with: "Rafa's had a rough time of it lately.  He and Chloe broke up over the summer, found out that she'd been using his credit cards to fund her shopaholic habits."

"What's your point? Friends fucking talking to each other, even over the summer, even when they're upset even if they're just upset shit, that tosser.  I mean, we talked over the summer about you and Molly getting back together when you both thought Alana was going to die of pneumonia.  And Ben called me to rant about soup when Tal was asked and agreed to go back into the Israeli Defense Force for another two year leading an elite task force. They definitely call to say when they get a fucking boyfriend that they're shagging while you're running around with a bunch of prepubescent future footballers."

His eyebrows went up as Carey leaned towards him and whispered lowly, "We still talking about Rafa." Bailey fell silent and brooded into his beer glass.  Carey sighed, eyes darting back to the phone.  "You're drinking and cursing and staring at that phone like you're waiting for it to ring."

"It won't. He's terrible at apologies and even though it's his fault, _I_ took it too far. _I_ need to call."

"This is about Salem, isn't it?"

Shaking his head angrily, Bailey stood up from the stool and swayed.  Carey moved to catch him, but Bailey reacted first, reflexes sharp despite his drunken state.  He pushed away from the counter and mumbled, "It's always about fucking Salem."

Bailey pushed his way through the crowd, ignoring his teammates as he stumbled out the door and into the cool air of Swansea.  He tripped and stumbled, slamming into a guy who caught him with a murmured "whoa" of surprise, righting him and smiling down into his face. All Bailey could see were the light green eyes and long dark hair.  It couldn't be.

"Are you alright, mate?"  Bailey's eyes caught on the tattooed black triangle on the man's hand and the rainbow bracelet. Without conscious decision to do so, Bailey's hands skimmed up over the chest, arms looping around his neck as he pressed their bodies together.

"Could be better."

Not-Salem Petrov grinned.

* * *

 

_Saturday Evening, present_

"That was stupid. You're a wee bit mental, laddie." Catriona burst out, her Scottish brogue breaking through the polished accent she'd been previously maintaining.

Kanani gaped at him while Bailey grimaced, stomach churning as he fought back bile, nodding knowingly. Kanani was visibly shaking, and Catriona reached over and rested a hand on hers, squeezing it in a silent show of support, her face grim.  She exploded.  "Are you out of your ever-living mind!"

"Nani," Catriona warned, eyes darting around the restaurant as Bailey shrunk low in his stolen seat.

Pursing her lips together and shooting Catriona a glare, Kanani whisper-hissed to Bailey. "You're absolutely fucking idiotic. Some gay guy looks like Salem at a _sports bar_ and you decide to bang him while you're drunk and fall asleep there.  Newsflash, this guy isn't Salem.  Do you _know_ what could happen to you?"

Bailey swallowed hard and tapped the mobile in his pocket.

 **Unknown:** Be ready to play ball or this baby goes viral.

Yeah, Bailey knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bailey's being blackmailed...'nuff said. Also, I have a few more chapters to post up today but I'm apparently losing power in like ten minutes so...I'll probably not be able to post more within the next three hours so here is what you're left with for now.


	23. "Shake It Out" by Florence + the Machine

**Text message from Max to Salem**

**Max:** Bas is annoyed.

 **Salem:** Why? I thought he liked his job.

 **Max:** He does. He gets to talk and look at ugly paintings all day. It's Georgia.

 **Salem:** Oh. What's her problem?

 **Max:** Besides her dying father?

 **Salem:** The one she won't visit? Yeah, besides that.

 **Max:** Unemployment.

 **Salem:** Suckin'

 

**RT by @ArthurBailey**

**Cameron Cunningham (@Cam76Tex)**

Starting up again at Shattuck St. Mary's but I get to see my @T_48_Beauvais again

 

**Text message from Unknown to Bailey**

**Unknown:** £3250. 17:00. Two days

 

To: nihal.farswhal@daiki.co.uk

From: theghostsofsalem@gmail.com

Subject: Overwhelmed

While I appreciate your love of delegation, I'm overwhelmed. I'm American so I'm a believer in expansion, expansion, expansion. But now there are people, lots of people. Little techs who want to look at my blueprints and schematics. An IT department that I'm the only one qualified to train.  Debating wages. Yelling at the receptionists and admins and people I think might be interns but I'm going to pretend are not and holy fuck the PAs. I can't. And tell Harley to come back because her vp makes me so fucking angry.

Just keeping you informed as head of HR,

Salem Petrov

CEO, Daiki Co.

 

**Text message from Unknown to Bailey**

**Unknown:** £5000. 17:00. Three days.

 

**Text message from Spencer to Salem**

**Spencer:** Are u ok?

 **Salem:** Yes.

 **Spencer:** Is this about Bailey?

 **Salem:** No.

 **Spencer:** Maybe u should talk to him?

 **Salem:** Drop it.

 **Spencer** : Gelato & pizza? 18:30?

 **Salem:** Make it 19:00? We're obsessing over furniture again.

 

**Text message from Unknown to Bailey**

**Unknown:** £7500. 17:00. Two days

 **Bailey:** This needs to stop.

 **Unknown:** £8000. 16:00. Tomorrow. Do it or this gets uploaded.

 

**Group MMS between Nihal, Dane, Harley, and Regulus**

**Dane:** Has anyone noticed Salem officially lives in the office?

 **Regulus:** Yes. Where have you been?

 **Nihal:** He's being depressive.

 **Regulus:** Think he fought with the bf.

 **Dane:** The official one or the unofficial one?

 **Nihal:** I'm confused.

 **Nihal:** He's boring his worker bees.

 **Harley:** I leave for 1wk

 **Dane:** He hates ur veep.

 **Harley:** Sigh. 2dys. Nihal, replace her?

 **Nihal:** On it.

 

**Text message from Unknown to Bailey**

**Unknown:** £8000. 17:00. 36hrs.

 **Bailey:** Who are you?

 **Unknown:** Don't you wish you were sober enough to remember?

* * *

"You look like shit."

The words drew Salem's attention from his coffee cup to the slip of a Punjabi woman hovering over him with her arms crossed over her chest.

Yes, yes he did look like shit. He had _facial hair_.  He _never_ had facial hair.  Facial hair made him look like a little boy trying to play dress-up because it grew in blotchy, in patches, icky altogether gross. There were bags under his eyes, and his long hair had been stripped of dye leaving in a greasy black and bleached mop of mess he'd corrected by tying it up into a bun, going so far as to pin back his bangs even.  He'd been in the same maroon MIT sweatpants for a week, alternating the three t-shirts he'd shoved in the bottom drawer of his new desk, all of which were officially owned by Bailey.

Salem had a problem.

He'd chosen to ignore this problem and the growing sense of unease by practically living at Daiki Co's brand new Piccadilly office space.  Which their investors were thrilled about since he'd holed himself up in the room they'd designated for product development and experimentation (despite Salem's paranoia leading to him locking all his design ideas in the safe in his own office), but that his partners were not since he'd literally dragged a sleeping bag into his office and curled up on the couch he'd gone out and bought day one precisely for that purpose and mainlined coffee.

Harley had barely gotten back from Punjab two hours ago after heading there for a couple weeks to sort out her and her fiancé's belongings for the move to London while Nihal had been with him and Regulus on hiring. Two weeks their move into the space and hiring spree had kept his mind busy and his body. Spencer was worried. Kanani was worried. Charlie has sent him one text message that had summed up to 'Your not fine don't contact me unless you are willing to tell me' because he didn't like to play that game.  Max and Bastian had facetimed him from Paris, demanding to know if they should come down, which no, no they shouldn't.  And the one person he wanted to hear from didn't even send a text.

Yep, Salem had been playing ostrich for going on three weeks.  Between pissing off the movers by being OCD about everything from the couches in the lounge to the position of the coffee machine in the kitchen, terrifying their new hires to the point of sheer panic when they saw him coming, and glaring malevolently at every single programmer and technician who came in the door and interrupted him to ask for direction, Salem had been appropriately swamped with no time to think about the person he was pointedly trying _not_ to think about or call or text or stalk like the psycho he was.

Apparently, though, between packing her life in Punjab away and calling to terrify her finance and accounting staff, Harley had been appraised of Salem's situation.

She tossed a plastic bag on his desk, and Salem groaned, poking his head up to glare at her while she shrugged.  "Basic toiletries: a razor, shampoo, conditioner, a throwaway hairbrush, deodorant and soap, your aftershave curtesy of Craig your ex-subletter and flatmate, and Kanani threw in purple temporary dye.  Also, there's a woman here to see you."

Salem blinked up at her and frowned.  "That's…unusual," he said slowly, standing up and stretching, accepting the fresh cup of coffee Harley offered him.

Harley snorted. "I know, right? Pretty too.  You tap that?"

 _Very, very doubtful._ Salem snorted and swooped the bag off the floor, nodding at her.  "Thanks for this."

"Um hmm," Harley waved an airy, dismissive hand, whirling around on the heel of her pumps and yanking open the office door.  Salem followed pausing in the doorway and raising his eyebrows at Georgia's petite figure, an uneasy smile on her face.  Pausing just passed Georgia, Harley raised her eyebrows as she looked between the two of them.

Salem sighed and nodded, "Apparently, I was wrong."  He looked up at Harley, "I stand corrected.  Yes, I did."

Harley gaped, hand covering her mouth as she stifled laughter and walking away.  Salem rolled his eyes and looked over at Georgia who appeared entirely too professional, hopeful, and serious.  He sighed and leaned against the doorframe, eyes narrowed on Georgia who didn't flinch under his gaze.  "Georgia…I'm gonna regret asking this: what are you doing here?"

Georgia took a deep breath and nodded, swiping a curled blonde lock of hair out of her face and tucking it back into her updo.  She cleared her throat and pulled back her shoulders; Salem's stomach dropped. "I need a job."

He hadn't exactly seen this coming, but now that it was here, he totally should have. The thing about it was one of the things that Bailey had said stuck: Spencer did web and graphic design and had no-so-subtly been aiming for a job.  Salem hardly believed that that had been the main basis of the relationship, but Salem had seen the complications of hiring his current boyfriend fresh out of college to work at a high level position in his company: not a good plan, especially since Salem didn't foresee any future for them beyond the immediate. Georgia wasn't going anywhere unlike Spencer, but Salem didn't actually _want_ to hire her.

"I know," Salem nodded.  He knew very well. She'd bitched about it to Bastian who'd in turn bitched about her to Max who'd sent an email along the lines of 'Georgia's broke and whining about it'.  He highly doubted she was trying hard enough.  The thing about Georgia was that her bachelor's in business management meant she'd have to start at slightly higher than entry level and work her way up. She'd always been entitled, didn't want to climb her way up the ladder the way that she should have and now realized her grace period was almost over and she had student loans that needed to be paid.

"I want to work for you."  Georgia deadpanned.

"What?" Salem balked while their recent hire graphic designer carrying a bunch of boxes startled, dropping all of the things she was carrying and gaping between the two of them.  He sighed and rubbed his forehead.  "Loretta, seriously?"

"Right," Loretta startled and nodded.  "Yes, sorry, did you get the request I sent you?"

Salem sighed in exasperation while Loretta stuttered out an apology as she hurriedly picked up her stuff. Georgia watched her with pursed lips, looking back at Salem who rolled his eyes.  "Yes, fine, but come to me for approval before you upload the changes."

Loretta beamed, "Great, awesome, thanks.  There's so much to do."  At his look, she blanched, "Not that the website wasn't excellent before I...it's just...I'm gonna..."

"Go." Salem ordered before turning back to a hopeful Georgia.  He shook his head. "What exactly do you expect to do here?  This is a consumer electronics company.  We develop personal computers and tablets and cell phones, which you're not qualified to do. You're not very good with finance so I can't pass you off to Harley.  Dane won't take you because he's made it very clear that his qualifications for hire are a recently obtained degree in marketing with at least experience as a marketing intern somewhere.  You're about as responsible as a three year old so Regulus won't have the patience to train you.  Even if I would hire you, what exactly can you _do_?"

"I'm a business management major, Sale, not an English major."

Salem sighed and ran his hands through his hair.  "We hired an English major for our up and coming business media department."

Georgia glowered at him, apparently that didn't help her feel any better in the slightest. "What about a receptionist? A secretary?  I can type."

"They're called administrative assistants, and they provide _department specific_ assistance, meaning you're not qualified.  And we have a receptionist.  Her name's Adrienne Montgomery, she's from Cheshire, she let you in here."

"What about working for you?  Directly."

"That's a personal assistant," Salem sighed and sipped his coffee, regarding her dubiously over the rim of the mug.

"Right, exactly, don't you need one?"  Georgia prompted.

"Yes, he does," Nihal remarked as he stomped passed, pausing and backtracking to look Salem over, raising his eyebrows and sighing.

Salem narrowed his eyes on Nihal, "Thank you very much for your assistance, Nihal. And while we're talking, fire Adrienne for letting," he tossed Georgia a sideways glance, eyes flitting up and down, "riffraff in."

He laughed and shook his head. "No." With a pleasant smile, Nihal turned to Georgia, holding out his hand and shaking it while she looked him up and down, her lips curving into a seductive smile.  Salem rolled his eyes.  Nihal looked down in amusement before forced a polite smile and benign expression as he met Georgia's eyes.  "I'm Nihal Farswhal, the head of HR.  Why don't you come with me, and we'll look over your resume while Salem _does what my fianc_ _é_ _e ordered_ and gets cleaned up, hmm?"

Georgia beamed at Nihal and raised her eyebrows at Salem who crossed his eyes before turning to Nihal. "You're _this_ close to getting fired Nihal."

Nihal shook his head and clucked his tongue.  "Doubtful, then you'd have to deal with all the new hires."

_This is true._

Nihal lead Georgia down the hallway towards his office, and Salem scowled before trekking to the bathroom. The bathroom that he felt pretty certain his partners had curtained off for his use only during his downward spiral into something that vaguely resembled depression.  It was pathetic considering he'd never acted the way like this during any of his actual break-ups.  But this wasn't one of his irritating lowlife boyfriends. This was Bailey who he couldn't even sleep to his shoebox hovel of an apartment without dreaming about and thinking about and staring at the phone willing it to ring or gazing mournfully at the door waiting for a knock that always preceded him digging the spare key out from under the doormat and using it to get inside.

Salem just _missed_ Bailey, more than when he'd spent a month teaching kids soccer in Argentina while Salem went to meeting after meeting and 'played with his toys'.  He scowled.

Bailey hadn't _meant_ it the way it came out, which Salem knew logically.  He was mad, pissed, because Salem had pushed a button he knew better than push. They'd both screwed up and said things that should never be said to someone that you care about, and Salem couldn't help but replay every painful jab that Bailey had sent his way. They hurt, but Salem could hardly _blame_ for them.

 _Yes, you can.  You can blame him for implying that you're a dirty little slut. You can blame him for hitting below the belt_ _…_ _okay, maybe not so below the belt.  I mean, you did start it.  You brought up his age when you know he's more mature than you_ after _you chased him down when he was trying to remove himself from the situation.  And you did say that he didn't want you when we both know how entirely untrue that is. He_ explained _and you made the decision to accept that explanation and deal with it accordingly. And he didn't have to call your life's work a broken toy, but he had a point slightly.  You were stressed and upset and taking it out on him. But you shouldn't have to cover up your relationship from your best friend because it makes him unhappy. It_ shouldn't _make him unhappy when he decided the terms, when he knew what this would eventually lead to. He_ knew _I wanted a monogamous relationship._

It didn't matter.

Salem was easy going. He'd provoked the response from Bailey and gotten exactly what he'd subconsciously aimed for. Now he just wanted to talk to Bailey. He'd dismiss the whole argument, no talks, no compromises, no apologies, if Bailey would just call him, text him, talk him and let him know that Bailey still even _wanted_ that, their friendship, but almost three weeks later, there was nothing, not even from Kanani who'd slanted Salem a sideways look when he'd shown up at her apartment door to ask and simply responded by shaking her head.

"I don't know why you morons are so determined on being self-destructive idiots. Cat and I get in a fight and someone walks out, one of us asks to meet up the next day to talk. Mutual apologies are had. It's done.  Over.  Men are such dunderheads," which had been when she'd bent down to whisk her barking Cocker Spaniel off the floor at her feet and into her arms, slamming the door in his face while Craig waved at Salem cheerfully from the plush white leather couch that had replaced Bastian and Georgia's horrifying piece of so-called furniture.

Kanani wasn't talking either, and other than Carey whose number Salem didn't have, there weren't a lot of people he could go to who had regular contact with Bailey and even less who'd _know_ despite that contact.

Shaking his head and trying to fight back the welling emotion, Salem rinsed his head once more, wrinkling his nose as he stared at his black and purple head in the mirror. Shaking his head, he yanked the brush through his locks on last time, shooting Kanani a quick text message of thanks. But hell if he didn't owe Harley a new pair of her favorite Chanel pumps in thank you for that much needed razor: soap, water, and a shave and suddenly he felt a little less like the depressive pathetic, brooding little whiner he'd been the last three weeks and would continue to be until Bailey contacted him…or until he broke down in a moment of extreme weakness while watching re-runs of _Extreme Makeover: Home Edition_ and gorging on Belgian chocolate Haagen Das ice cream.

Stuffing the toiletries back in the bag, Salem tied it shut and stepped out of the bathroom and almost directly into Regulus who raised his eyebrows at Salem.  Salem sighed and nodded at Regulus to walk with him, and he took up the offer silently, walking alongside Salem for the longest time, neither of them speaking until Regulus finally conceding.  "You look better, much better.  For a while there, I thought you were perhaps about to skip town and become a hermit.  Considering our general income thus far, it probably wouldn't be too horrible if you retired now. I mean, you'd have to live off of Tang and Saltines but, it's doable."

Salem laughed and shrugged, "Nope.  Not about to become a hermit.  I've got a technological world to revolutionize."

"Too late," Regulus remarked with an easy shrug before glancing over at Salem who waited tensely for the dreaded question.  "You think you have time to revolutionize the world if you don't know how to delegate?"

Okay, so maybe not the question he'd been expecting.  He could deal with that one though.

Sighing in exasperation and trying to keep the relief off his face, Salem turned to him. "Is this about the little programmers and techs who are salivating to get their hands on my data and blueprints?"

Regulus shrugged, "I think they'd settle for your laptop, but yeah, these are about the little tech geniuses from _across the globe_ who _you_ hand chose to hire and who don't really do anything because you don't know how to share."

"I'm paranoid."

"You're a control freak."  Regulus corrected, stopping and pulling Salem into a conference room.  "What do you want?"

 _Bailey_.

Since Regulus meant professionally, not personally and sexually, Salem sighed and reformulated his answer. He wanted holograms and _Avatar_ kind of tablets and home computers and televisions, wanted to be able to make all of those things smart and interchangeable with unbelievable capabilities.  He wanted personal computers for schools with holographics and SmartBoards that could connect without wires.  Fuck all of that shit, he'd settle for ridding the world of wires in general. Better firewalls. Better word processors. Just better.  Sighing in exasperation, Salem settled for, "Too much."

Regulus nodded his head and smiled.  "Nihal wants to hire your…whoever the hell Georgia is."

"'Whoever the hell' is exactly why I don't want to hire her, exactly why I wouldn't hire Spencer despite how qualified he was for this job."

"Ex-girlfriend? I thought you were gay."

"I thought you were straight."

Regulus laughed, "I said 'ish'."  Salem rolled his eyes, and Regulus shook his head.  "Adrienne said he's called the office every day this week, once in the morning and once in the evening, because you've been out of touch for the last week–you know, while you've been _living_ here?––and that he was worried about you even before that.  Something happen?"

Salem sighed and shook his head, running his fingers through his hair and glaring out the window at the busy London street below.  He felt like he needed to talk about Bailey, tell _someone_ and _Bailey_ would usually be his first choice but that was off the table now. And his second was Charlie, but Charlie was up to his ears in work and his own personal drama, which didn't mean Salem wouldn't tell him, just that he didn't need Charlie's passive-aggressive form of advice and worry.  Salem would tell hime once the issue had passed because, really, between the pair of them, they couldn't _both_ be ranting about their respective would-be boyfriends and frankly Charlie needed Salem as an outlet more.

Still, Salem was not about to talk about his issues in the middle of their conference room despite considering Regulus a friend.

"Do you think I should hire Georgia?"

"I think you should utilize the bright little minds in there that you like and trust to help you so that you don't stress yourself out.  I think that you should merge your side business breaking and patching security systems with your legitimate business since it's not like you need the tax free funds for your income.  I think you should delegate the way you did when you brought in me and Harley and Dane and Nihal. If you don't want to hire your ex-girlfriend as your assistant then don't.  Humoring Nihal could be a worse in the long run than not answering your own emails and phone calls, but do what you want to do Sale, just make sure you do it fast and won't regret it in the long run."  Regulus patted Salem's cheek and smiled at him, calling out his shoulder as he walked out the door, "Call your boyfriend!"

That was last on the list, but he'd get there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!  
> And in case there were any doubts: Regulus is absolutely polyamorous.


	24. "Life After You" by Daughtry

**Georgia Hanson (@ChangedGeorgia)**

I officially have a job with @TheDaikiCo.!

 

**Kanani Kapuana (@Kanani_Pahala)**

@ChangedGeorgia good you can actually help with the bills ;)

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

Ok so @NihalFar was right about the new hires. They're good peeps #MyBad

 

**Text message from Unknown to Bailey**

**Unknown:** £7500. 15:00. Tomorrow.

**Bailey:** That's gonna be a problem.

**Bailey:** Game against Braga. Out of country.

**Unknown:** Figure it out superstar.

 

To: [**danny.lordes21789@gmail.com.uk**](mailto:danny.lordes21789@gmail.com.uk)

From: [**zack.russell@mirror.co.uk**](mailto:zack.russell@mirror.co.uk)

Subject: RE: Bailey Story

I'm intrigued. If what you have is legitimate then it's worth big money to break it first. I understand your reluctance to send it via the web, but I need to see it to verify its authenticity and confirm you can tell it's Arthur Bailey. Let me know what's best for you and we can work out who's going to whom and when.

Zack Russell

Sports writer, The Mirror

 

**Text message from Carey to Benny**

**Carey:** I'm worried about Bailey.

**Benny:** He's playing fine.

**Carey:** Right. Let's try to remember he's a real person too.

**Benny:** You know what I mean ass. That's the best way to tell with him.

**Carey:** Not this time...this is me asking you to talk to him.

**Benny:** No, really?

**Benny:**...about his feelings?

**Carey:** About his sexuality.

**Benny:** I'd rather talk feelings.

**Carey:** Tosser. Oh, and Salem.

**Benny:** Kill me now and save Bailey the trouble later

 

**Rafael Correa (@Rafa86)**

Time breeds carity. All it took was a little time #ReverseThisCurse

 

**Text message from Caroline to Rafa**

**Caroline:** Just to 'clarify' you're an ass. Take it down. I know what you meant and as a human being AND your PR rep I'm beyond words pissed. **  
**

* * *

"You're pining," a familiar accented voice remarked from behind Bailey.  He sighed and tilted his head back to look up at the cloudless blue sky before looking back at Benedikt standing on the side, hands in his pockets and eyes on him, focused and intense.

" _You're_ pining." Bailey answered, and _that_ was certainly true, which was why Ben didn't argue, just shrugged and sat down on the edge of Lyttelton Playing Fields's football pitch. Wordlessly, Bailey walked across the lawn, accepting the water bottle Ben handed to him as Ben's two kids seemed to appear out of nowhere, laughing and tackling each other into the grass, a burly German Shepherd weaving between them.  "Heard from Tal?"

Ben shrugged, "I mean, yeah, she calls regularly.  The kids miss her.  _I_ miss her.  We never saw this coming, which is stupid because I _know_ how nationalistic she is. Tal's _Israeli_. Tal _loves_ Israel. It's her home. It's her everything, and the only reason she hadn't gone back years ago when there had been all those missile threats on Tel Aviv was because she'd been pregnant with Ami.  It's just hard, you know?"

"I know," Bailey intoned, frowning as he watched Ben's three year old son, Ami, kick the football with his toe as he laughed.  Bailey winced.  Maybe he _was_ a little bit of a control freak.

"Carey called me."

Bailey nodded and swallowed down the water, trying to ignore Ben's eyes on him.  He nodded and didn't say anything.  What was there to say anyway when one of your friends and teammates felt the need to call in the big guns because you were so on the edge. It was nothing different than what Bailey and Rafa had done when Carey had been one Tequila shot away from alcohol poisoning when he'd found out that not only was Molly pregnant but she had no intention of ever letting Carey meet their child.  Thirty minutes wandering the Kew Gardens with Ben, and Carey had come out clearheaded and armed with a lawyer who'd gotten Molly to rethink her whole plan in one phone call…and now that pair had decided to be on-again.

_That,_ Bailey felt sure, was a spectacularly awful plan even if he'd never tall Carey that.

Ben nodded and tossed a Mentos into his mouth as his eyes tracked his three year old son and five year old daughter who laughed as her brother playfully wrestled their German Shepherd into the grass.  His gaze shot back to Bailey who sighed and turned to meet his friends gaze, lips pressed together in a tight line, eyebrows raised.  Ben smiled kindly at him, but Bailey didn't bite, entirely unimpressed with Ben's attempt to coddle him.  _Get to it, mate. I'm not in the mood to play games._

"You want to talk about Salem?"

Bailey's face remained neutral. "Salem and I aren't speaking. There is currently nothing in the context of Salem to talk about."

_Fuck, dammit.  I might as well have screamed that I have issues._ Ben was not the press, and he'd spent way to much time in media training, including alongside Bailey, for him not to recognize that the icy, monotone brush off was Bailey's standard, polite way of telling the media to fuck off.

"Okay," Ben nodded his head, "you want to talk about your homosexuality?"

_You had that one coming_.

He grimaced and looked over at the shape of his house rising in the distance.  He hadn't spent a lot of time there in the last three weeks or so. There'd simply been no point. The place was too quiet, too lonely, too sterile.  It still held all of the things Salem had left there in random places since Bailey hadn't had the heart to move them.  Salem's coffee, his ice cream, his bottles of Coca-Cola, and the bags of Salt and Vinegar potato chips that he snacked on incessantly all waited for him to come back, Bailey refusing to throw anything out despite him not actually eating any it. He wanted to go there, and he didn't. It wasn't the safe haven it was supposed to be not when Salem lingered in every fiber, nail, board, and atom in that house.  And not when Bailey felt so unsure about where he stood with the man in question.

Bailey had no desire to play twenty questions or be interrogated by one of his oldest friends.

He was also out of energy to deny, deny, deny.

"Not really."

Ben looked over in surprise, and Bailey nodded.  "You didn't expect me to admit, did you?  If that really _counts_ as an admission."

"You're not 'guilty', Bailey.  You didn't do anything wrong."

Barking out a humorless laugh, Bailey shook his head and ran a shaking hand through his still too short hair.  "I've done a lot of things wrong, Benny.  I'm not the angel that the media makes me out to be."

"The media makes you out to be a football robot, a media darling, and borderline autistic."

"Autistic?" Bailey repeated in surprise.

Ben shrugged, "Probably more Aspergers than Autistic, but the point remains the same."

"I feel like that's a little…sacrilegious? If that makes any sense."

Ben laughed humorlessly. "You really don't see yourself, do you?"  Bailey raised his eyebrows at Ben who shook his head.  "Bailey, you isolate yourself from everyone on purpose and are incredibly uncomfortable and awkward in large groups, the only reason that it doesn't _seem_ that way during team events is because they've adjusted themselves to your idiosyncrasies." Bailey grimaced, and Ben continued, "Your actual friends amount to me, who has a family and life primarily across town, Carey, whose some hybrid state of settled and off the rails, and Rafa––"

"Rafa isn't currently acknowledging that I'm a living carbon based life form."

"Yeah, well, Rafa's an asshole, that's all I can say.  He'll get over himself once he remembers all the things you've done for him and how good a friend you've been despite how innately selfish you are. And oblivious to it too."

"Are you _still_ whining about all the things wrong with me?"

"I'm _enlightening_ you about you behavior, Bailey, which is something nobody ever has."  Bailey fell silent even as he cringed.

" _You don't get it Arthur! You don't!  Everything you do affects this family, the way people see us. I can't have you running wild and getting into trouble you're some degenerate.  There's no reason for it, and I won't have it! You're spoiled and entitled and selfish! You don't care about what you do and the things you say and how it affects everyone else around you! What do I have to do to get that through you head, Arthur?  What do I have to do for you so that you stop behaving like an animal?!"_

"You want everything exactly the way you want it, and I know it's a bit of an OCD thing, that you _need_ to have things just so, but, Bailey, you don't care how your actions make everyone else feel. You never curse but you also have this way of making everyone else feel inferior with a look, and the way you're always so composed, you just seem to look down on everyone, and I know that's not _entirely_ true but you can't say that it isn't just a little. You're smart and you're talented and you're jaded and that's a pretty brutal combination." Bailey rolled his eyes and shook his head, sipping his water bottle and disregarding Ben entirely.  Ben slapped his arm while Bailey looked over at him, face stony and utterly annoyed.  "See! You're doing it right now. Just _listen_."

"I _am_ listening, Ben.  I'm always listening to people critique me and my behavior and the way I talk and the way I dress and the way I present myself.  It's all I ever listen to."

"And do you ever take anything in?  Do you even care?"

"Not really," Bailey replied honestly and tonelessly.  "I can't afford to care."

"You cared what Salem thought, didn't?"  Bailey tensed while Ben continued on, unconcerned with Bailey's obvious unease with that particular subject.  "You're so different with Salem.  You curse and laugh and do things like order him a Guinness…like _know_ he prefers Guinness over every other draft beer in the bar.  I mean, we've been friends three years and what do you know about me?"

Bailey remained silent and glared at a blade of grass he'd plucked, threading it through his fingers because besides the fact that Benedikt was German, married, and had two kids under the age of six and a dog, he didn't know much that didn't have to do with how the man played football.

Nodding knowingly, Ben smiled wanly at Bailey as he tipped his head back to take a long swallow of his water, clapping and cheering for his giggling son as he scored a goal with Bailey's abandoned football.  He turned back to Bailey.  "You talked to him. Smiled and laughed and cursed and…"

"Did you even meet Salem?"

"Nope," Benedikt replied with a grin, "Carey told me about him."

"Carey needs to mind his own business."

" _You_ chose to bring him around your friends.  Don't get mad at him for taking an interest."  Bailey fell silent, choosing to brood in silence while Ben sighed, softening and frowning at Bailey.  "Something was different about him, right?  And I'm not talking about how you were obviously sexually attracted him the way you never were with any of the girls the team tried to foist on you during your rookie year. He made you feel safe?"

_Shit.  Shit. Double shit.  Safe?_

Bailey cringed even as he hardened, but Ben didn't notice, too busy giving his soliloquy about Bailey's mental state and how Salem had impacted it for the positive. "I'm not in danger," Bailey snapped.

"Emotionally, not physically," Ben clarified, pacifying him.  Bailey bristled, and Ben ignored his reaction. "You can be yourself around him."

"And you can stop psycho-analyzing me."  Bailey deadpanned.  "I don't want to talk about Salem."

"Because he betrayed you?"

"You're not my therapist, Benedikt.  I don't want to talk about it, and Salem did not betray me.  This is not a lifetime a movie where we had a miscommunication, and he ripped my heart out.  Salem is my friend not my boyfriend.  He didn't cheat on me. He didn't lie to me. He didn't _do_ anything to me."  Bailey retorted tersely, managing to keep his voice level even as his temper started to rise.

Bailey didn't want to talk about Salem.

He sure as fuck didn't want to talk about how Salem made him feel _safe_ when he was feeling the effects of his own stupid decisions weighing down on him, pushing him into a corner, and backing him against the wall making him feel more vulnerable than he could ever remember being, even before his own parents.

Salem _did_ make him feel safe, made his house feel like a home as clichéas _that_ was.  Bailey had never had to pretend to be anything other than who he was with Salem, primarily because Salem didn't expect anything from him, didn't care about Bailey's 'idiosyncrasies'.  He _fit_. Salem pushed Bailey and embedded himself into the spaces of Bailey's life where he could while Bailey did basically nothing to make room for him––so, yeah, maybe he _was_ a little selfish.

Bailey whined and Salem disregarded him.

Bailey railed against change and Salem disregarded him.

Bailey had OCD moments and Salem disregarded him.

Bailey said 'I can't', 'I shouldn't', 'I won't' and Salem laughed _then_ disregarded him.

Salem challenged him and pushed his boundaries and forcibly yanked Bailey out of his comfort zone. He let Bailey be Bailey while also channeling that…Bailey-ness in a way that he could work with and coexist alongside. Every day since this had begun, Bailey had _needed_ Salem to be there.  He wasn't the type to say 'everything would be okay'.  He was a _doer_ , an action-oriented, the type to nod and say 'you want _Brave_ or _The Princess and the Frog_ ' and _make_ things okay before Bailey could even process that things hadn't been. He missed Salem's company but craved the innate ability he had to make Bailey relax without any conscious effort.

The long extended silence between them was at odds with the innocent laughter of Tal and Ben's children. The chatter and giggles of people playing in the public park pressed against him, chaffed against his skin and his already addled emotional state.

"What did _you_ do?" Ben asked quietly.

Bailey laughed bitterly and took another sip from his water bottle, finishing it before tossing it to the side and getting to his feet.  "What I always do, apparently, acted like a selfish arsehole." Ben looked stricken, and Bailey shook his head, jogging across the pitch and effortlessly lifting Ami into his arms and tossing him over his shoulder, popping the ball into the air and juggling it while Ami giggled and his sister, Miriam, made a grab for the ball. It was the only thing he had left.

* * *

"Too busy daydreaming to play, Bailey?  Pick it up! Let's go!" Coach yelled at Bailey who pursed his lips at his coach before nodding once and rocketing down the field, faking and passing it back to Rafa on pure instinct, and watching the ball sail into the net almost disjointedly.  He ran his fingers through his hair and put his hands on his hips while Carey laughed and flipped a grinning Rafa off.

Rafa blew him a kiss jokingly while Bailey shook his head and looked over at Bakar who rolled his eyes and threw an arm around Erik, laughing harder and dancing out of the way as Erik swatted him.  Coach blew the whistle, shaking his head in amused exasperation at their behavior.  Bailey jogged over to side, lifting his water bottle from the bench and taking its place.  He squirted it into the back of his throat while the rest of the team sat down, laughing and talking with each other while their coach had a hushed but lighthearted conversation with Bakar.

Bailey pulled his cellphone out of the zippered pouch on the side of his bottle's case, heart clenching like it always did when he saw that there'd been nothing from Salem after a month and a handful of days, not the slightest _anything_ despite the fact that Bailey still had clothes, tools, and tiny little circuit boards that certainly didn't belong to him sprinkled all of the house.  Sighing and shaking his head, teeth clenching, he flipped open his email and smiled automatically as he read it over.

* * *

 

To: [kingarthurb@gmail.com.uk](mailto:kingarthurb@gmail.com.uk)

From: [cameron76ham@gmail.com](mailto:cameron76ham@gmail.com)

Subject: OMFG

First of all, my favorite of all time football playing superstar from Britain in the history of ever, you have been awesome thus far this season.  Since you enjoy brutal honesty, I'll tell you the truth my majorly awesome mentor that you definitely haven't been as sharp as the past years but, you know, not overall like horrifying 'I knew you were a burn out' kind of a thing.  Second of all, I'm a teenager so LET'S TALK ABOUT ME!!!!!!!!! Today I totally pulled off that trick from she's the man, the awesome in-air kick not the front hand spring with the ball for a throw in biz-ny-ee. (Although my ref bff said he wouldn't let that pass as legal during a U-17 regional game -.-) I'm working on that next.  Jackson's helping me, that's my brother, he's into gymnastics.  He likes tumbling.

And for the life of you watch Draft Day. That movie...I watched it about a hundred times.  I can't even express it's awesomeness especially when you realize all day he was dropping hints that he was sticking to his balls no matter what (excluding his momentary panic for his job security but whatever).

You want to know what's really awesome? Besides my mad moves (which Tanner taught me because Tanner is a god), but my coach thinks that I have a shot to play on a national level for the US in the U-17 FIFA World Cup in 2019. Two years admittedly but I have so much time! Imma a go for it.  What else do I have to do at boarding school besides watch Tanner freak out about his hockey schedule. Whatever. Adios from Shattucks St. Marys. Ttyl.

Cameron

* * *

 

Bailey laughed slightly and shook his head.  He'd been leery about actually giving a thirteen year old camper his personal email address when he'd beamed and batted his eyelashes, but something about Cameron had changed Bailey's mind, saw something in him that reminded Bailey of a more extroverted version of himself, especially when the teenager had once spent a whole lunch lying in the ground at Bailey's feet sipping Powerade and talking about how his only friend in life was Tanner and Shattuck St. Mary's drove him cuckoo. It _didn't_ but Cameron had been having a moment, and Bailey could relate.  Though, at least Cameron went there _for_ sports, not because his parents didn't want him around to embarrass them.  The Cunninghams adored their son, right down to drilling him when he'd asked if it had been okay to give Cameron his email.

It was sweet.

" _Oi_ ," Rafa greeted nervously in Portuguese. Wordlessly, Bailey dragged his gaze up to meet him, and Rafa flinched before smiling kindly at him, uncomfortably. "Look Bailey…"

Not that Bailey was in any mood to hear it, especially considering how closely Carey was pretending not to watch the pair of them, like he was afraid Rafa would say something wrong to set Bailey off.  He'd wanted this for months, wanted to _know_ what had happened to make Rafa excommunicate him.  His phone pinged and his heart jumped.  Now, really, he had someone a hell of a lot more important who at least had a reason for _his_ abrupt withdrawal.

"I don't want to do this now," Bailey said, glancing hopefully down at the device as his blood froze in his veins.

_No.  No. Nonononono._ He _couldn't_ do this.

"Bailey, I know I've been…it's just…I was going through some personal stuff and now everything's different."

"I _really_ can't with you," Bailey replied, hopping to his feet and fighting off a panic attack. "I've gotta—" he pushed passed Rafa, rushing towards the coach and Bakar. Bakar's eyes glanced over him, face twisting with surprise.

Coach balked. "Bailey, are you—?"

"Is Caroline in her office?"

"I…" Coach frowned and shared a worry look with Bakar. "Are you—?"

Bailey spun on his heel walking as fast as he could towards the team offices before breaking into a run as he entered the building, rushing up the stairs and breezing passed Caroline's assistant and straight into her office.

From behind the desk, Caroline was leaning back in her seat, feet propped on the desktop and the phone between her cheek and shoulder as she taps out an email on her laptop with one hand and flips through her emails on her Blackberry's Daiki replacement (that she'd specially commissioned from Salem as a favor).  Bailey slammed the door behind him and crossed to the desk, hyperventilating, and Caroline took one look at him. "I'll call you back, Harry. Yeah, thanks." She hung up the phone, swung her legs to the floor and accepted the mobile Bailey handed to her wordlessly.

Caroline took one look at the message, eyebrows raising as she looked at Bailey. "'Found a solid offer. Offer me something better or you'll be headlining by Friday. £50,000.' What the _fuck_ is _this_ , Arthur Bailey?"

Bailey opened his mouth to responded and collapsed to the floor, managing to yank over Caroline's waste basket before he vomited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Bailey finally comes clean about blackmail (and vomits in front of his team's head of PR). Shattucks St. Mary's is real and in Minnesota. It's known as the Harvard of hockey because so many people who go there to play hockey end up going pro (Jonathan Toews & Sidney Crosby) but they're also really big in Soccer, Figure Skating, and Golf. Cameron, Bailey's protégé, is also gay in case anyone was wondering because I didn't spell it out properly. His hockey playing 'friend' is his boyfriend.


	25. "Superheroes" by The Script

**Text message from Spencer to Salem**

**Spencer:** Lunch break?

 **Salem:** Lml ok.

 **Spencer:** Excellent. Marrkech? 12?

 **Salem:** Sounds perfect. I'll see you then.

**Spencer Kensington (@Spence1x7)**

Lunch date with my favorite boy @Salem_Daiki :D

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

@Spence1x7 you're such a dork. I'm trying to work here. Stop blowing up my phone :P

 

To: sterling.harry@dissidentmanagement.org.uk

From: bonfils.caroline@arsenalfc.org.uk

Subject: A problem

Harry,

Since you're much more well-versed at hiding someone's sexuality and have helped me get ahead of these shitstorms in the past, I need some serious help. Someone's trying to sell Bailey's secret to the rags–with proof.

Any help would be appreciated,

Caroline Bonfils

 

To: kier.peter@londonsportsmgmt.org.uk

CC: kingarthurb@gmail.com.uk

From: bonfils.caroline@arsenalfc.org.uk

Subject: URGENT

This is a curtesy email before I call you incessantly. Bailey's having a panic attack because some guy he drunkenly hooked up with has proof Bailey's gay and is going to sell it to the tabloids. Also, he's been blackmailing Bailey for a month unbeknownst to anyone but your client. You have 30minutes to get to my office from this time or I deal with this my way.

Caroline Bonfils

 

To: theghostsofsalem@gmail.com

From: georgia.hanson@daiki.co.uk

Subject: 15:15 Meeting

Just reminding you about your 15:15 meeting with the chief execs and Nick from BlueCrest about productivity and profit.

Georgia Hanson

Petrov PA, Daiki Co.

 

**Text message from Harry to Caroline**

**Harry:** I tried but not much.

 **Harry:** Selling to the Mirror. Zackery Russell.

 **Caroline:** Thanks for trying.

* * *

 

"Don't even lie. You _like_ that movie. It's okay that you like it, but don't pretend that _Norbit_ wasn't a terrible movie." Salem pointed out offhandedly as he munched on the warm pita bread spread out across the table. He tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling while Spencer snorted cynically.  "You know what was a good movie?  _Draft Day_ .  _Schlinder's List._   _Now You See Me_."

" _The Other Woman_?" Spencer teased, licking hummus off of his fingertip while staring heatedly at Salem.

No bueno. As a foodie, Salem could do without being propositioned at the table.  He could also do without ludicrous suggestions that left him choking on said delicious warm pita bread.  Seriously? _The Other Woman_? Sometimes Salem really seriously wondered about his boyfriend like when he suggested Salem try food immersion to cure him of his anti-Asian cuisine bias.  _That_ had ended with him downing Saki like it was water in between picking about California rolls at the table like they were a science project.

Good times.

Salem sighed and peered over at Spencer with disappointment.  "I go _Now You See Me_ and you raise with _The Other Woman_?  Who _are_ you? I feel like this conversation is about two steps away from ' _Mama_ was cinematic genius but _August: Osage County_ could have used a little work'."  Spencer pursed his lips and squinted before shrugging.  Salem glowered.  "What is the _matter_ with you?  _August: Osage County_ was Julia Roberts's best picture to-date—"

"Only because _you_ think she's a horrid actress."

"She _is_!  And Meryl Streep was _phenomenal_ , but she usually is so…" Salem shrugged.

Spencer snorted. "And I suppose you believe _The Dark Knight_ had some deep hidden gems about society and evil and that no one can ever play the Joker as well as Heath Ledger did."

Salem stared at his boyfriend for a moment, utterly scandalized by the light derision in his voice. _New amendment: no religion, politics, ships, or movies because Spencer clearly has no taste._ "Heath Ledger _was_ the Joker. It was _brilliant_. The movie was cinematic excellence. What are _you_ talking about? And it proved that chaos always wins, good and evil are entirely subjective and prone to possessing a gray area, and that order is all about perception and belief.  Fan-fucking-tastic.  Though, I will concede _The Dark Knight Rises_ was an absolute disaster. What timeline? Batman quits…goes back to fight Bane who _kicks his ass_ …then runs off to retirement with Selina?  Fail at life. Seriously."

Spencer took a sip of his coke and quirked an eyebrow at Salem whose response to the long hard look was to gulp down so much Orangina so quickly that it burned his throat. He coughed quietly while Spencer shook his head.  "You take your films ridiculously seriously.  I'm just not a big fan of the cinema.  I like what I like, which tends to be lighthearted, comical, and generally budget…and Bollywood."

He blinked at Spencer and slammed his glass down on the table.  He winced.  Excessive force. "You don't watch Bollywood."

"I do," Spencer responded with a laugh.  "It's fun and musical and colorful.  Are you saying you don't like anything weird?  Are we discounting your manga obsession?"

Salem shook his head and laughed.  "My manga obsession is…not. It's just not, nonexistent."

"You have every copy of _Jikogu No Kami_ ever made."

" _Volume_ ," Salem corrected with a goodnatured huff while Spencer laughed and kicked him under the table. "I have all current 40 volumes of _Infernal Divine_ , which is what it's called in English. And it's better in Japanese, which why I have the doubles."

Salem _didn't_ mention that he had every volume of the on-again, off-again yaoi action/adventure manga series about angels and demons and everything in between because he knew both author and illustrators personally.  _That_ would be telling.  If they wanted the world beyond himself and Charlie to know, then they'd spill the beans. There was certainly no reason why _Michi_ couldn't, his co-conspirator had a more slippery slope to walk on when it came to their particular brand of schtick.

He also didn't mention that he'd acquired the English volumes because Bailey had wanted to read them.

Smiling fondly at Salem, Spencer laced their fingers together and gazed at him softly from under his eyelashes.  Salem fought a smile and shook his head.  "Stop it."

"Stop what?" Spencer retorted lowly, a smirk starting to spread across his face.

Salem glanced over at him before quickly turning away, trying to hide his own growing smile. " _That_."

"That what?" Spencer teased, leaning over to press a kiss to the underside of Salem jaw, whispering into the skin, "You're going to have to be a lot more specific than that, babe."  His hand skimmed up and over Salem's thigh.

And Salem caught his boyfriend's roving hand and held, shaking his head and trying hard not to blush. Salem made no bones about being an overtly sexual creation—within reason, one time listening to Dorian Speaks, he'd determined that even he had tact—and was an exhibitionist, that was a _thing_ , but even he had boundaries in public spaces.  He also didn't do PDA because outside the bounds of semi-public sex, _no one_ liked to watch people suck face all the damn time, gay or straight.

"You're such a—" Salem started stopping and cringing when his phone rang.

Spencer groaned. "Salem.  You promised me."

"I know," he started cautiously, edging the device out of his pocket.

Spencer glowered, "You swore you were going to leave work at the office.  _Swore to me_."

"Fine, fine, just let me check who…" Salem's voice trailed off, breathing catching and heart pounding furiously as Salem's eyes landed on the ID flashing across the screen. His thumb ran over the name flashing across the screen.  He blinked, trying to keep his welling tears out of his eyes and his breathing steady.

"No." Spencer said sharply.  Salem startled and turned to him in confusion.  "This is the first time we've been out in a month that we haven't had you taking calls and sending emails every five minutes.  Salem, please."

"It's not work," Salem promised, trying not to look too exultant that Bailey was calling.

Spencer glanced down at the screen and shook his head.  "Salem—"

He ignored his boyfriend entirely, answering the call without any further argument and breathing out in sheer relief, "Arthur."

"Konstantin," Bailey replied, voice tight, almost panicked.

"What's wrong?" Salem demanded, suddenly alert.

"I was stupid, Salem. And I don't know how to fix it." Dead silence followed. The creepy, ominous kind filled with dread and horror and a million things you half want explained and you half really wish you couldn't already infer from the previous, deadpanned, monotone statement.  Flat and dead. That was how Bailey sounded. Brief, to the point, vaguely terrifying since Bailey didn't _ever_ talk to Salem like that.

Spencer narrowed his eyes on Salem who reacted by shifting away from his boyfriend's infuriated gaze, hunching over and resting his hand on his face to block the man in question from sight.  "I need words, Bay."

Shaking his head, Spencer downed the rest of his coke in an agitated motion. Salem glanced sideways at him but rolled his eyes, choosing instead to bask in Bailey's silence and trying to interpret what he could from it until Bailey haltingly forced out: "Peter and Caroline are obsessively calling _The Mirror_ because they're trying to buy a sex tape of me and some complete and utter bloody wanker that I had the poor sense to shag when I was drunk and upset in Swansea."

The words _sex tape_ registered painfully before the rest of what Bailey was saying sunk in.

And once it did, Salem became irate that someone had the audacity to do that to Bailey…or try to, which, speak of, what did that mean?

"Try?" Salem repeated questioningly, "I need you to be honest with me.  What aren't you telling me?"  And he was _positive_ that there was something there, something that Bailey in his icy, reluctant demeanor was genuinely ashamed of to the point where he didn't _want_ to tell Salem. For maybe the first time, Salem understood where his best friend had been coming from when he said that he didn't want to know anything about Spencer.  He _felt_ that lurch in his gut and the twang of pain in his heart knowing that Bailey had fucked someone even if the guy was an arsehole who'd videotaped them against Bailey's knowledge and when he was vulnerable, knowing that something had happened between them.  It had to be worse for Bailey because he didn't even have the comfort of Spencer being a bloodsucking leech.

Salem could _feel_ Bailey's discomfort.

"He's been blackmailing me for a month.  Caroline thinks it was just to pad his pockets while he negotiated with the tabloids for a bigger payout."

Guilt solidified in the pit of Salem's stomach.  Bailey had been dealing with some asshole alone while Salem had been licking wounds that he'd created.  It was disgusting. What kind of a friend was he that Salem had been so caught up in his own personal drama that he'd left Bailey to handle this kind of shit alone?  Hell, he and his big mouth had no doubt been the reason _Bailey_ had been drunk in Swansea after a game in any case.

"We can't…" Bailey exhaled in frustrated, the edge cutting off like a stifled sob. He tried again. "I don't even know his _name_ , Salem.  I was an idiot, and I'm going to pay for it for the rest of my life."  The self-loathing in Bailey's voice made Salem's stomach churn, and he shook his head, mind already devising a plan he knew better than to act on but…maybe he would anyway.  Maybe he _should_. Bailey sounded too shattered to do anything different.  "Everyone from _The Mirror_ is giving Caroline the run around.  Peter's running around like a chicken with its cut off and giving me these pathetic looks like I'm a kicked puppy.  They brought in my coach, and they want to bring in the team's general manager and brief _him_ and the entire media department is…and I'm not ready, Salem.  And even if I was, I wouldn't want it to be like _this._ I just need…"

Salem ran trembling hand through his hair and tugged near painfully on the strands, choking out almost desperately, "What do you need Bailey?"  Which actually roughly translated into: _tell me what you need and if it's even remotely in my power I'll find a way to give it to you_.

"I…" Bailey took a deep, shaky breath that was so unlike anything Salem had heard from Bailey that it was unsettling.  "Nothing," tone bleak and defeated.

Salem read it loud and clear. "Where are you right now?"

"The club's corporate offices."

"I'll be there as soon as I can, alright?"  He heard Bailey draw in a shaky breath, and Salem swallowed and shook his head. He _should_ have already been there. He should have _known_ that this was happening.  "I'm gonna fix this," Salem promised, not waiting for a response as he hung up the phone, shaking his head and murmuring curses under his breath as he stuck his cell phone back into his pocket, yanking out his wallet and tossing the bills to cover lunch on the table.

Spencer looked up at him in exasperation.  "Are you serious?"

"Bailey needs me."

"Bailey _always_ needs you…except for when he doesn't.  Except for when he didn't even talk to you for the last month after _he_ stuck his foot in his mouth."

Salem bristled and shot Spencer a poisonous look.  "You have no idea what happened between me and Bailey."

"I know that he spent a month fucking your head, and I spent it trying to piece you back together because Bailey doesn't give a shit what completely and utter rubbish comes out of his mouth as long as it hurts."

Salem shook his head brusquely. "Bailey didn't _say_ anything to me. _I_ opened _my_ mouth. Bailey just reacted."

"And that gives him the right to ignore you for _weeks_."

Beyond agitated, Salem snapped. "Look, don't put this all on him. A phone works both ways. I could have called."

"Christ," Spencer balked in shock and disbelief, "you're _still_ defending him. Do you ever _stop_? I mean, you two ignore each other," he raised his hands in a blatant effort for surrender, "for _weeks_ and just when you start getting your life stable again you're going to run back to him and fight his battles for him."

"He's my best friend, and _he needs me_.  That's what friends _do_ for each other."

Spencer shook his head and let out a humorless laugh, leaning back in the seat and tossing his fork down on his plate.  "No, it isn't. The way you run after him after a single phone call when he hasn't talked to you in _weeks_ , it's like you're…" Spencer trailed off, and Salem flinched, gritting his teeth while his eye flashed up to study the ceiling.  _Way to hit the nail on the head there Spence._   "Lord, Salem," Salem looked back at Spencer, hackles automatically rising when he saw _pity_ in Spencer's gaze, "he's straight."

"We've slept together," Salem spat furiously, unbelievably irritated by the pitying look on Spencer's face.  He was not a lost little boy in need of someone's pity because someone didn't love him. Even if Bailey _had_ been straight and Salem _had_ been pining, he'd never be pathetic enough to deserve pity.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Spencer burst out.  "Tell me you fucking did not sleep with your best friend when I trusted you."

"Don't be so self-righteous.  It's not like I cheated on you.  We never did anything like that since you and I started this."

Spencer fumed. "You think that _helps_.  You shagged your best friend, spent all your time with him, blew off our dates to be around him and told me it was just because you were friends. And I trusted you. You didn't think it was something I ought to know?  You didn't think I deserved to know that the person you spend all your time with is your ex-boyfriend."

"I didn't think my relationship with Bailey was any of your business since it wasn't going to affect ours."

"But it _is_ , and it _has_.  It can't _not_ affect our relationship, Salem. You practically live in his house. You think I didn't realize that? I mean, where were you when I called your flat at eleven at night and you didn't pick up the phone? How do we even recover trust when you pull some ridiculous bullshit like this, Salem?"

Honestly, Salem didn't know. Never even thought that far. He'd really never had any intention of telling Spencer anything about his and Bailey's complicated history, and he didn't have time to hash out their relationship problems right this very second because Bailey needed him more.  Bailey always needed him more, and, in any case, Salem had this innate tendency to put Bailey's wants and needs in front of friends, family, and victims of genocide.  He just topped the list.

"I've got to go."

"Salem, I don't want to be an arse, but if you walk out that door right now, we're done."

Salem shook his head and slid out of the booth, already dialing Georgia's extension as he looked down at a furious Spencer.

"Good afternoon, you've reach The Daiki Company, Georgia Hanson speaking."

"I'm going," Salem said to Spencer, shaking his head and pulling on his jacket before hurrying out of the restaurant.  "Georgia, it's me. I'm not going to make the meeting today."

"What––?"

"Family emergency. Tell Nihal and Regulus that they have my vote for whatever they want to do as long as it's not that goddamn board again. We're not getting a board."

"Alright, what––?" Salem hung up on her and flagged down a taxi.  Apparently, it was time to invest in a car not a new apartment.

* * *

 

"You can't go in there," the tiny slip of a receptionist told Salem who narrowed his eyes on her, looking her from the tips of her knock-off kitten heels to the top of her failed French braided hair and smiled wanly.

"Look," his eyes flitted down to the name plate on her desk before meeting her eyes again and smiling predatorily, " _Jenny_.  I'm going in there with or without your approval. Now, you can come with me, and lie and say that you agreed to admit Salem Petrov, that's me, or you can look like a moron by standing her and glowering at me like _that's_ going to stop me. If I got passed security downstairs, I'll get passed you, got me?"

 Jenny's eyes went wide, and Salem nodded, brushing passed her and down the hallway where he could hear the loud voices leaking out all the down the hall.  He stopped when he reached the closed door marked: 'Caroline Bonfils, Head of PR'.  For a moment he paused, cocking his head and wondering if he should knock before choosing instead to just roll his eyes and shove his way inside interrupting Caroline Bonfils mid-rant.

The room look like a war zone…or an interrogation room for a political prisoner or a domestic terrorist with Bailey slumped in a chair and looking ready to curl in on himself like a turtle.  His manager stood behind his chair, hovering and furious, arms crossed over his chest and scowling. Bailey's coach had confined himself to a corner, eyes focused on Bailey, face dark but otherwise impassive. Caroline, though, look rabid as she ripped Bailey a new one from behind her desk.

"––what you were _thinking_ Bailey!  First, you go and get yourself drunk _in public_ and then decide it's a great idea to fuck some asshole you meet outside a sports bar!  Don't get his name!  Fall asleep at his flat! Do you have any idea how many of your messes Peter and I have scrubbed from the public for you? Any idea how many rags _caught_ glimpses of you being the promiscuous gay _footballer_ that you are? I mean, really what were think––" Caroline trailed off as she snarled at Salem who quirked an eyebrow before she whirled back around on Bailey.  "Really?  _Really?_ Tell me that you're fucking kidding me with this bullshit?  You get in a lover's spat and all of the sudden you're about the be the first and biggest openly gay football player in the world. Congrats."

Suddenly all eyes turned to Salem who regarded Caroline coldly as he crossed the room towards Bailey. He hopped up out of his seat and made a move towards Salem before hesitating, fists clenching around the hem of his shorts, bowing his head and biting the inside of his cheek. He took a deep breath and rolled back his shoulder, his expression clearing of all emotion before Bailey looked up and met Salem's eyes, vulnerability lurking in the back of his eyes.

Salem held his gaze, nodded once, and quirked his lips into a weak smile before using his foot to yank back the second chair, tossing himself into it, and nodding his head at Bailey seat while he propped his feet up on the desk and smiled at her. He felt Bailey's gaze settle on him as he sat down in the chair beside Salem's, face carefully blank but noticeably less tense.  With a bang, Jenny appeared in the doorway, and Salem looked at her over his shoulder, waving at her. She glared before looking up at Caroline.

"Mademoiselle Bonfils, I'm _so_ sorry, he just––"

"Mr. Petrov," Caroline cut her off tonelessly, "is a force of nature, of that I'm quite aware. Thank you, Jenny." It was a clear dismissal, and Jenny nodded, bowing out gracefully and closing the door behind her.

Caroline raised her eyebrows at the feet on her desk, and Salem shrugged.  "So we don't know this asshole's name?"

Bailey flushed, and Salem flicked a glance in his direction before settling his expectant gaze on Caroline who glared, "What are you doing here?"

"Who _is_ this?"  Peter Kier, Bailey's manager, demanded.

Bailey huffed quietly, and Salem met his gaze, lips quirking up in amusement, before he wiped his expression clean and looked back at Caroline.  "What do we know?"

"'We?'" Bailey's coached demanded, his face incredulous as he looked to Caroline. Bailey, though, Bailey's tension drained, hope and profound relief blossoming in the back of his eyes as he kept his gaze on Salem.

Salem sighed, looking over to Bailey as he reached down for his laptop back, fishing out his laptop as he looked to Bailey for answers.  Their gazes locked and held for a moment, and Bailey released a long breath before straightening with confidence, nodding once and clearing his throat. Salem fought to keep his face clear as he dropped the laptop into his lap, opening it up as Bailey elucidated: "The reporter trying to buy…he's a…" Bailey pursed his lips together, adjusting his gaze from where it had drifted to floor up to meet Salem's eyes.  "He's an arse.  He's that tosser who wrote that I'm a crybaby on the field and the refs show favoritism."

And just like that he had something.  Nodding, he replied, "Zackery Dean Russell.  33. Born in Scarborough and graduated from Manchester.  Worked for _the Mirror_ the last three years after a stint writing for _Deadspin_ and briefly for _the Guardian_ upon graduation twelve years ago.  Divorced. No kids."

Kier glowered. "How do you know that?"

"I Googled him," Salem shrugged, and Bailey fought a smile while Salem smirked and looked up to meet Caroline's eyes.  "How much do you know about me?"  Caroline scoffed.  Salem didn't buy it. "You're _extremely_ thorough in your job, even more so in your personal life.  I know that you did a background check on Max when he started dating Bas. And I know you did one on Georgia when she moved in with them.  I'm not naïve enough to believe you didn't do one on me.  So what'd you find?"

Caroline pursed her lips and sat back in her chair.  "Brett?"  Bailey's coach raised his eyebrows, and she smiled at him.  "Will you excuse us?"

Brett sighed and shook his head, "I hope you know what you're doing."  He exited, and Salem inclined his head at Kier, and Caroline looked at the man's steely expression and shrugged.

"Nothing. I found absolutely nothing on you. School records. Transcripts.  Your Visa.  Nothing I wouldn't expect to find, which is weird considering you only took out about $30,000 in student loans for a $60,000 school and your mother barely made enough to keep you fed and clothed.  But you never filed a tax a return.  Where'd you get that kind of off-books money?"

Salem offered her a brittle smile, craving a joint, and he looked over at Bailey who didn't even look the slightest bit taken aback by this, just curious. "You wanted to know where I got the name Salem from?"  Bailey frowned and nodded.  Salem looked back at Caroline.  "Did you know, that one of the most wanted men in the world doesn't even exist? Ever seen that tv show _Bones_?" Caroline nodded warily. "Once upon a time, there was this internationally renowned hacker––a lot like Pulant but with a lot less dead bodies riddling his doorstep––who was most famous for dismantling PRISM by planting viruses in emails that he then sent to every department of the US government.  When the files were opened it downloaded into the system and remained latent in the program until someone used it, which then crashed the whole system and every system connected with it.  There was also this whole  _thing_ with Interpol but we're not going to talk about _that_ European crisis."

"They called him the Ghost King in the press here."

"They called him Salem in America.  Town of false accusation and destruction.  Where witches go to die.  It's a thing," Salem remarked, fingers flying over the keyboard.

Kier gaped, and Bailey raised his eyebrows.  Caroline gaped before demanding, "What are you doing?"

"What do you think?" Salem replied. "Hypothetically, I'm the most prolific and wanted computer hacker in the world. I'm fixing the problem." He grinned.  "Got you bitch.  Your boy's name is Daniel Montgomery Lordes.  Mid twenties.  Born and raised in Swansea.  Avid football fan. Just flunked out of university and is working a minimum wage job at a grocery store.  He's financially sunk except for these semi-random payments that he spends in _hours_ : bills, student loans, utilities, and a car that's way too expensive for him to maintain. And technologically illiterate."

Caroline balked, sharing a look of surprise with Kier.  "Did you _hack_ his bank account?"

Salem snorted. "Bank account. Government files on him. School records. Police records, not much, petty theft, larceny, breaking and entering, but shit that I'd expect. Emails, he has three. His cell phone history. His browser history. And his laptop where he has no firewalls and a lot of pertinent information.  Including a video file in his porn folder labeled: 'Arthur Bailey'."

"You're deleting it?" Kier pressed.

"Hardly," Salem remarked coldly, "I'm corrupting it.  That punkass little bitch isn't going to know what happened when he tried to open it."  He looked up and smiled icily.  "I'm very good at what I do."

"I'd noticed." Caroline remarked.

"What about copies?"

Salem shook his head. "He's got a MacBook Air that he couldn't afford.  No way to burn it onto a cd.  His emails are clean. I went through that file with a fine-toothed comb, jackass hardly maintained a 2.0 GPA his school, still uses Hotmail, and Google searched Twitter.  This isn't a criminal mastermind.  He's a piece of shit for sure, but he didn't _really_ think this through. I'm confident this is over."

" _I'm_ confident what you just did was a felony."  Caroline snapped.

Shrugging, Salem stuffed his laptop back in his bag and rose to his feet, tapping Bailey's shoulder in clearly order to get up and come along.  "I'm confident I don't know what you mean. None of this ever happened. And he won't be going to the police to say his blackmail material went missing because a wanted international hacker put a virus in it."  Kier sighed, dropping into the seat Bailey vacated bonelessly, and Bailey slapped his shoulder in a wordlessly apology while Caroline glare at Salem.

He didn't say that when Zack's computer fried, Zack might.  But Salem hadn't been caught by half a dozen _governments_ gunning for his head, he highly doubt he'd be caught by a greasy little wannabe sports journo.

Instead, he just said 'fuck it' and took Bailey home.


	26. "Maps" by Maroon 5

To: sterling.harry@dissidentmanagement.org.uk

From: bonfils.caroline@arsenalfc.org.uk

Subject: All Good

Thanks for the note about Russell. Turns out Bailey has a very interesting friend who made the whole thing go away with a few strokes over his keyboard.

Caroline Bonfils

 

To: georgebretthenley@gmail.com.uk

From: kingarthurb@gmail.com.uk

Subject: Personal Day

Coach,

I recognize that professional football players don't get to take personal days because they're having personal issues, but I'm taking one.  I need a break from my life for a little while.

Bailey

 

**Text message from Salem to Georgia**

**Salem:** I'm not going to work today.

 **Georgia:** It 2am you bastard.

 **Salem:** You have to go though or I'm firing you.

 **Georgia:** Shut up and die. Im sleeping

**Text message from Nihal to Salem**

**Nihal:** Are you in today?

 **Nihal:** One second you live here then nothing.

 **Nihal:** We hired a board.

 **Nihal:** Jk

 **Nihal:** I did approve a retail store though.

 **Nihal:** You're not going to answer. I'm finding Georgia.

 

**Transcript of voicemail from Spencer to Salem**

**Spencer:** Hey, Salem, I'm pissed, I think we both know that. I feel betrayed, and I have reason to. You lied to me about Bailey. You lied to me about who and what he is to you, and you're lying to yourself. What you did was rubbish, and honestly when I picked up the phone to call I'd been aiming to make up, work it out, but we're done, huh? I can't trust you. You're oblivious and totally emotionally unavailable. I'm sorry for being such an arse when Bailey got into…whatever he go into. I deserve more than someone who's hung up on someone else. Everyone does. Think about that.

 

To: zack.russell@mirror.co.uk

From:

Subject: I've got a story for you

Some people just don't get it. Get greedy.  Get whacked.  I've done it once and I'll do it again.  This time it's all on you.  I've gotten bigger fish. Now I've got you. There's peace in truth but more in silence. Here's desperate, but you're scum, Zackery.

5

4

3

2

Peace and lights out

* * *

Bailey woke up alone and mildly disoriented, eyes landing on the glowing red numbers from his alarm clock and causing him to jolt upright in surprise.  It was almost noon, and he was still asleep, not only that, no one had called and woken him up.  Swinging his legs out of bed and bowing his head, it took Bailey another moment to remember sending that ill-advised email at two in the morning before he'd passed out, curled up against Salem's side that apparently his coach hadn't seen reason to argue with.

And speaking of Salem: where the hell was he?

Sighing, Bailey got to his feet and swiped a pair of sweatpants off the bedroom floor, eyes taking in the room.  Salem's clothes were still strewn haphazardly around the room, his laptop still sat on the bed side table next to his mobile.  He was still there, and Bailey didn't even bother not to breath that automatic sigh of relief that came along with the knowledge.  He'd moved beyond trying to pretend Salem meant anything less to him than the man actually did when he'd been forced to spend a month without him.

Padding out of the room and down the stairs, Bailey paused and studied Salem through cracked patio door. Salem's bedheaded had been twisted up in a loose bun with pieces sticking up every which waym and he'd pulled on a pair of Bailey's flannel pajama bottoms, his favorite afghan wrapped around Salem's shoulders and a joint dangling from his fingertips.

Bailey's lips twitched upwards into some semblance of a smile before he headed straight for the kitchen, frying up a breakfast that would make any one of the team's nutritionists cringe in agony before he joined Salem out on the patio, the cool September air wrapping around them.  He slid the plate onto Salem's lap before leaning against him, dropping his head down onto Salem's shoulder, and he shifted wordlessly, wrapping an arm and the afghan around Bailey's shoulders and resting his joint in the ashtray.  Salem pressed a kiss to Bailey's temple before looking down at the food, lips quirking up into a smile.

"And how exactly did you know I was hungry?"

"You're always hungry when you smoke," Bailey retorted, stealing a strip of bacon off of the plate.

Salem's fingers drifted from Bailey's shoulder to tug sharply on a lock of his hair. "Who said I'm sharing?"

"When you cook your own breakfast, then you can decide whether or not you want to share. Until then, you'd best learn to suck it up."

Bailey could feel Salem rolling his eyes, but instead of arguing the point, Salem offered Bailey some of the pancakes before taking a bite of them himself.

It was a good thing Bailey rarely had visitors over to his house.  Salem had a tendency to leave his half-finished joints lying around wherever he'd smoked them in the back of the house.  It had been Bailey who'd shown up with an ashtray he'd picked up from Tesco, dropping it in front of Salem nearly six months ago and walking away. He'd made an attempt, but Salem, despite rarely ever being scatterbrained, could occasionally be that way when he felt comfortable enough.  Bailey understood that and rarely scolded him for it beyond dark looks at the stubs that were accompanied by sheepish smiles from Salem.

The question almost more prominent than why Bailey wasn't at practice was why Salem wasn't at work. Bailey's practices were mandatory unless he was sick, but Salem was a straight-up workaholic who probably didn't even take days off for things like funerals or weddings.  Bailey would picture him Skyping his mother's memorial service from his office some day.  He was that kind of crazy.

While Bailey appreciated the silent show of support or the need to babysit Bailey to keep him from having yet another panic attack. the last thing he needed was for anyone to be put out for him anymore.  He'd probably already helped Caroline age ten years and given his agent a heart attack. He didn't need to bother Salem anymore than he already had by calling him out of the blue in the middle of a work day to come and fix one of Bailey's screw ups.

"I'm sorry," Salem spoke, shattering the silence around them before Bailey had a chance to say anything.

He blinked stupidly, confused. "What?"

"I should have been here," Salem remarked.  "I...I didn't get it at the time.  I didn't get why you didn't...why you couldn't...you needed me, and I wasn't here for you and I should have been."

"This was not your fault," Bailey replied tightly.

Salem laughed humorlessly and leveled Bailey with a long, serious look.  "Yes it was."

"Me being unable to control myself is not your—"

"We both know that if I hadn't been such an ass—"

"No," Bailey snapped, "we _don't_ know that! I did this to myself and dragged everyone in with me."

"You should have called me!" Salem yelled, and they both froze.  Salem sighed and ran a shaking hand through his hair, "You should have called me when this whole thing started, because I was having a fuck awful day and was picking a fight and you were there.  That's not an excuse for what happened or what we both should never have said, but when that dickhead started blackmailing you, you should have called me.  Just because we got in a fight doesn't mean you aren't my best friend, doesn't mean I wouldn't or don't want to help you."

Swallowing, Bailey shook his head.  "I just...I fucked up. That was on me, and I thought I could...I just didn't want...I don't know."

Salem moved quickly, picking up the plate and dropping it on the ground beside the ashtray, and cupped Bailey's face in his hands.  Bailey jerked back instinctually, but Salem held strong, shaking his head. "You're not alone, Bailey. I know you think you are, and I know you're used to feeling that way, but you're not.  I'm here for you always even when we're fighting and even when I'm irrationally upset.  There's not a lot that I wouldn't do for you, okay?  That includes breaking several international computer protocols and coming out of semi-retirement to kick some punk journalist's ass."

Bailey huffed out a laugh. "What did you do, Konstantin?"

Salem blushed and shook his head.  "It's probably best that you don't know, honestly."

"Are you going to be arrested?"

"Hopefully not," Salem admitted, pressing a lingering kiss to Bailey's forehead.  He whispered against Bailey's skin, "Don't worry about me, Arthur.  I've been playing this game for a long time."

 _Like that makes me feel any better_.

Salem read between the lines, pulling back to meet Bailey's eyes.  Their gazes held for a moment before both of them moved, lips crashing together almost violently. Their tongues tangled, warring for dominance, as Salem pushed Bailey to lie back on the ground, straddling him and grinding his hard-on against Bailey's, two thin layers too many between them. Bailey mewled into Salem mouth, wrapping his arms around Salem's neck and clenching his fingers in Salem's dark locks, snaking through them and yanking the elastic band out.

Salem smiled against Bailey's lips, hair falling down to frame his face, and nipped at Bailey's bottom lip. His chilly fingertips skimmed over Bailey's overheated skin, dancing across the waistband of his sweatpants. Bailey's hips canted up under the touch, eyes rolling back from the sheer pleasure of not just being touched but being touched by _Salem_.

Which was around the time when Bailey remember why he _hadn't_ been touched by Salem for so long.

Bailey tensed, and Salem stilled, pulling back to look down at Bailey questioningly, both of them breathing hard.  "Bailey?"

"Get off," Bailey choked out.

Salem had a boyfriend. Salem was a good guy who didn't do shit like this to people he cared about.  Salem didn't cheat, and Bailey, as much as he wanted Salem, was not about to be another weight on Salem's conscience.

"Bailey, what—?" The confusion was evident on Salem's face, much more evident than the hurt that he was trying to mask.

"Just...I need you to get off me.  Now," Bailey continued.

For a moment, Salem shifted like he was about to do just that, but determination crossed over his face and he settled more firmly atop Bailey.  Bailey wriggled underneath him, trying to get out or push Salem off of him or _something_ so he felt more securely on solid ground.  But Salem didn't seem to be in any hurry to go anywhere, and the only way that Bailey could get him off was with enough force to hurt him.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Bailey?"  Salem demanded harshly, and Bailey shook his head and looked away from him until a firm hand gripped his jaw and guided his face and eyes back towards Salem. "Speak."

"Spencer." Bailey summed up his problem in a single word.

"Oh," Salem sat back, giving Bailey just enough room to sit up.  His expression was both shuttered and thoughtful.

"Yeah," Bailey remarked tersely.  "Oh."

"That's not what I meant."  Salem remarked slowly, frowning.

Bailey shook his head and tried to move away from Salem who rolled his eyes and plopped down completely in Bailey's lap, wrapping his legs around Bailey's waist and smirking up at him.  He narrowed his eyes on his best friend.

Why couldn't he just let Bailey leave?  This situation was too much for Bailey to emotionally handle four months ago when Salem had taken up with the punk ex-uni student to begin with.  It certainly didn't help Bailey any when Salem wrapped around him like an octopus and kissed him like they were still...whatever the hell they'd been before, whatever the hell Bailey still silently and internally wished they could still be when he fell asleep alone at night wishing Salem was with him.

Salem looked at Bailey, studied him almost to the point of Bailey's extreme discomfort, before running his fingers down the side of Bailey's face.  "I watched your games, you know, _all_ of them."  Salem confessed, and Bailey startled.  Salem didn't _hate_ football, but he could hardly be considered a fan.  He did well enough watching the games live but tended to 'forget' to watch them on telly because they 'drag on at a snail's pace'.

Laughing humorlessly, borderline self-deprecating, Salem nodded.  "I know, not my finest hour but it was more healthy than Twitter stalking you, and I could get away with it even in Georgia and Charlie's eyes. I missed you, you know? Even before we had our fight and weren't talking.  It's like you were here but you weren't, if that makes any sense.  Like you had to watch what you said and how you behaved around me, which is absolutely ludicrous.  I l—" Salem cocked his head and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "You're fine just the way you are and who I date should never change the way that we are together."

"Yes, it should," Bailey remarked bleakly.  "I need you to get off of me."

"It's just you and me, Bailey.  You don't have to do... _this_.  You can touch me.  I _want_ you to touch me."

Swallowing hard, Bailey gaped at him in disbelief even as his body complied, relaxing against Salem as his hands drifted up over the smooth skin of Salem's back. Salem arched up under the touch and pressed his lips to Bailey's throat.  "Konstantin."

"Arthur," he breathed across Bailey's skin as he trailed kisses along the column of his throat, hands clenching in his hair.

"Why?" Bailey asked vaguely.

Salem understood, pulling back to meet Bailey's eyes.  "You're always going to come first, Bailey.  Always."

"Did you tell him?"

"I had to."

"And he dumped you?" Bailey spat, outraged.

Salem laughed and kissed the underside of Bailey's jaw.  "Of course he did."

"It's not like we were doing anything then."

"Bailey," Salem tsked, "we share a bed when I'm at your house.  We've slept together.  And you call to say you need me, and I ditch a date with my boyfriend to come see you.  And it's hardly the first time, and it would hardly be the last.  We're intense, Bailey.  We're intense to be around.  And we're intense for anyone I'm in a relationship with for good reason.  I'll always care about you more than anyone that I'm with. And I'll always come when you call me. And I'll always put you and what you need before anyone else.  And I've accepted that, but that doesn't mean anybody I date will have or that they even should."

Bailey huffed, "But you're amazing."

"Really, actually, only for you.  Otherwise, I'm actually a pretty fuck-all boyfriend."

"I don't believe that."

"No, I am. I'm incredibly selfish. I'm a workaholic who doesn't like to make time for anybody in my life.  I don't share well, emotionally or physically, I like my space to be my space and my space alone."

"I'd actually quite noticed that one," Bailey remarked while Salem stuck his tongue out and swatted his shoulder.

"I have really strong opinions, and I don't like to be contradicted."

"Is this about your obsession with movies and television shows?"

"People find that irritating."

"I find it rather endearing."

"God knows why," Salem retorted, snorting.  "Do you know it took me ages to finally have sex with Spencer?"

Bailey tensed. "Do you know that I don't actually want to know anything about that?"

"And yes, for your very prying information, we used a condom every time because I'm not about to catch some venereal disease because I wasn't careful."

Tipping him a sideways look, Bailey raised his eyebrows.  "We _never_ used one."

"I trust you."

"You don't trust your boyfriend?"

" _Ex-_ boyfriend," Salem corrected, pursing his lips thoughtfully before shrugging, "not strictly speaking. My mother always taught me better than to trust the bs coming out of the mouth of a man who wants to fuck me. Admittedly, the lesson originally pertained to women trying to trap me into marriage using pregnancy, but the lesson is pretty interchangeable, I think."

Bailey laughed and rested his forehead on Salem's shoulder while he combed his fingers through Bailey's hair.  "I missed you, Salem."

"I know."

"Don't do that to me again, please."

 "Okay."

"I'm sorry about you and Spencer."

_What a bold faced lie._

 Salem snorted and pressed a kiss to Bailey's temple.  "No you're not."

"No, I'm not. He's a complete tosser, and I never liked him."

"You never met him."

"And?"

Salem laughed and pulled Bailey's head off his shoulder, immediately bringing their lips together. Without the thought of Spencer dangling over him, Bailey kissed Salem back wholeheartedly, breathing him in and running his hands over the bare skin of Salem's back, sneaking under the band of his pants to grasp and squeeze his arse.  Salem squeaked in surprise even as he arched against Bailey whose only response was to laugh into his mouth.

"God, you're such a damn tease, Bailey," Salem remarked, head tilting back as Bailey nipped and kissed down his throat, pausing to suck a massive hickey at the base of his neck. He gently cuffed Bailey on the back of the head, drawing in a deep breath when Bailey blew cold air onto the black mark on his neck and rested his finger in the cleft of his arse. "Shit.  Fuck.  Dick."

"It's not teasing if I actually plan to follow through, is it?"

"Can't follow through if you're too busy talking shit, can you?"

"I'm excellent at multitasking," Bailey replied before licking up the other side of Salem's throat to suck on his earlobe.  Salem sucked in a harsh breath and writhed in Bailey's lap, grinding against Bailey who smirked and kissed Salem's temple as he slipped his first finger into Bailey's hole and passed the first ring of muscle. Salem sucked in a breath, fucking himself on Bailey's finger.  "You're not apparently.  Remember to breath, Salem."  That being said as Bailey slipped in a second finger.

Salem cursed, slamming his lips onto Bailey and groaning as he moved on Bailey's fingers. "More."

Bailey laughed and obliged. He remembered well enough just how much Salem could take, and forewent adding one more finger, straight to two. Salem's breathing stuttered, and he froze for a moment, adjusting to the feeling until Bailey curled his fingers against Salem's prostate, and he released a long, keening moan. "Christ, Sale, you sure you were getting laid while you were with that arse?"

"Bailey, Arthur, _lyubimiy_ ," Salem pleaded, "it's been entirely too long since I've had you inside me—"

"So should I go grab a condom and lube?"

"You should shut up and fuck me before I do it for you."

Who was he to refuse such an offer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes, Salem crashed the reporter's computer for aiding the blackmailer's attempts to out Bailey via gay sex tape (go Salem!), and yes, Salem almost dropped the 'l' word.


	27. "Dynamite" by Taio Cruz

To: cybercrimes@interpol.int

From: zackrussell@gmail.com.uk

Subject: Hacker Salem

My name is Zackery Russell, I'm a sports journalist with The Mirror in the UK. A week ago, I received an email that fried my computer. When I plugged it in and tried to get it to turn on again whatever the virus was ruined the electrical wiring in my flat and uploaded it onto every device plugged into an outlet. It wasn't until I checked into repairing my laptop that I learned a lot of the email's contents and the virus were the MO of infamous hacker, Salem.

Best,

Zackery Russell

 

**Arsenal's young star steps up**

Despite questions of whether Arsenal's Arthur Bailey (21) had peaked, Bailey proved everyone wrong these last three weeks coming back from stagnant, almost tired playing.  "I've been working through some personal issues," Bailey said during a post-game interview, "I know I shouldn't have allowed it to but it did.  Now, I'm back on more solid ground, my head's on straight, and I'm focused." Let's hope so with the 2018 World Cup in less than a year and Bakar Bengochea retiring at the end of the season, it's safe to say Arsenal fans are looking forward to Bailey taking the captaincy and Arsenal all the way to the Premier League and Club Cups.

 

To: Work Contacts

From: theghostsofsalem@gmail.com

Subject: Halloween Party

I've gotten numerous emails requesting a company Halloween Party. Whatever, challenge accepted. Tuesday, October 31st, 10:00, Club Deccord in Central London. RSVP with Bridget Cooley (bridget.cooley@daiki.co.uk) your vp of HR and feel free to bring a plus one as long as you RSVP for that.

Salem Petrov

CEO, The Daiki Company

 

**Georgia Hanson (@ChangedGeorgia)**

Party @ Club Deccord with @TheDaikiCo. It's gonna be awesome

 

**The Daiki Company (@TheDaikiCo.)**

First company party in 30 minutes. Who's excited?

 

**Kanani Kapuana (@Kanani_Pahala)**

Partay Partay!!!!!!! With @Kitty_Catriona and my roomies

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

I am actually going to a party tonight...

* * *

If looks could kill Regulus would have slaughtered the DJ about half an hour ago, which was saying quite a lot considering he'd dressed up as a Care Bear for Halloween (sometimes Salem genuinely wondered if they were all _actually_ adults or just pretending).

And at 10:27 when their was no music beyond their IT department singing _Thriller_ , no Bailey as of yet, and no let up from Regulus on said DJ, Salem decided to step in. It went complete against his archaic American ideology of 'non-interference' but Salem figured if America had a long and colorful history getting involved in other countries personal problems then he could stop his business from murdering their DJ. Their highly recommended, highly paid, highly talented (according to Dane) DJ who was nearly thirty and wore a polo shirt with a ridiculous flat-billed baseball cap like a tool.

Whatever, no judgment.

Except there was totally some judgment…Salem was hoping the wannabe ghetto prep school thing was just for Halloween, but he wasn't optimistic.

"What seems to be the problem?" Salem butted in, leaning against the edge of the booth. The DJ sized him up. Regulus didn't even bother to look at him.

"This punk's inability to _do his job_." Regulus enunciated in a way that clearly said he and Eminem over here had already had this conversation.

"I _am_ ," the DJ argued.  Salem raised his eyebrows.  Regulus snorted.  He trucked on anyway.  "Or I'm trying to my equipment just doesn't seem to like the club's—"

Salem cut him off. "If you're going to try to tell me your state of the art equipment isn't compatible with Club Deccord's state of the art facility, save your breath.  This isn't a Halloween party for a bunch of stockbrokers and bankers. This is an _electronics development_ company primarily comprised of employees under the age of twenty-five.  Any one of the people in this room is probably capable of setting up your equipment and enhancing it with duct tape and a cell phone battery.  We're just that good."

And instead of looking properly contrite, their DJ bristled.  "Yeah?  I'm Carter Skeet.  I _invented_ this soundboard."

 _I know_ , Salem sighed to himself.  He kept up with all the latest gadgets and gizmos coming out of odd sources. None, of course, were even in his league, not that he was being arrogant, they just weren't.  Salem hardly knew anything about DJ-ing equipment, but he knew that Carter Skeet's was personalized and the best, which had partially been why he'd bothered to hire him when Dane had begged.

"I signed your exorbitant paycheck.  I'm aware," Salem remarked tonelessly.  "And I'm Salem Petrov.  I _invented_ your cell phone and laptop and this company."

Carter's head jerked up and he blanched.  "Oh, you're—"

"Yeah," Salem nodded, eyebrows raised while Regulus smirked evilly.  "Did you double check your wires?"

"I—" Carter turned around to double check his equipment, and Salem nodded as he shifted his wires around, turning back with a sheepish expression. I got the audio wires mixed up."

"I figured." Salem turned to Regulus. "Try not to stress tonight. You don't have to be COO 24/7. Carter's productivity is not going to get _you_ fired."

"Habit."

Salem snorted and repeated, "I figured."  And he did, because being in control was starting to become his.  It was probably best that his little coming out about Bailey had put the final nail into the coffin of his and Spencer's already on the rocks relationship.  As it so happened, Salem had begun to think of overt control as the norm when it came to everyone _except_ Bailey and probably only because Bailey was a highly strung control freak all on his own. The one and only time he'd ever even approached being a control freak with Bailey was when he'd straight up told him they were not going to watch _The Last Ship_ and abruptly changed the channel; Bailey had stolen back his remote and retorted smartly "my bed, my house, my TV license" before flipping it back and smirking at Salem.

Of course, he'd become downright anal about things like housekeeping and scheduling, the former including Bailey and the latter excluding him, because if he planned everything out between his and Bailey's schedule they'd be able to talk to each other between the strict hours of 22:00 and 8:00 when they both finally managed to get into the house at the same time.

It was pretty ridiculous that _Bailey_ kept him grounded in a reality that didn't revolve around spreadsheets, schedules, and to-do lists, because Salem would swear sometimes Bailey lived by them.  They'd fallen into a routine in just about a month that consisted of Bailey sending Salem a schedule of what his week would look like and Salem carving out his life around Bailey's dictatorial slave schedule of practices, games, and workouts.  Twice a week Bailey would consent to breaking his nutrition plan, and Salem would make it up to him by actually eating whatever type of salad Bailey foisted on him the next day (he kept getting these weird salad recipes off line, it wasn't normal). They were grossly domestic. They did _chores_ together. Salem did Bailey's laundry because Bailey had a tendency to wait until he didn't have any clothes _left_ and Salem had grown a bit to high maintenance to sit around and watch his laundry collect in the corner of the room (okay, so maybe he'd also bought Bailey a hamper to avoid _seeing_ the pile grow but whatever).

Salem was officially a control freak, which probably came from a combination of too much work-related responsibility and a Type A personality.

Bailey was just highly strung.

It worked for them.

Regulus's eyes trailed over Salem's 'costume' and raised his eyebrows.  "Are you dressed as a footie player? I didn't even know you _liked_ footie."

Regulus, of course, thought it was inhuman to dislike the great sport of 'football' about as much as Bailey pursed his lips and stared at Salem like he was completely off his rocker for blissfully beaming as he sipped his morning French vanilla coffee as opposed to Bailey overpriced, imported oolong tea.  Whatever, Brits were weird.

Carter looked up at that, eyes going wide when they fell on the Arsenal uniform he'd commandeered from Bailey's laundry.  "Those look authentic," Carter said, tone slightly awed. Total tool or not, Carter was definitely British and, apparently, an Arsenal fan.

"They _are_ ," a familiar voice said from behind Salem. Warmth pooled in his belly and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips as Bailey slid an arm around his shoulders and leaned into Salem, looking at him with raised eyebrows. "They're _mine_ if I recall."

"I washed them, if _I_ recall," Salem argued while Bailey rolled his eyes, and Salem took stock of Bailey's costume with amusement. He'd apparently decided to skip pleasantries and go straight for the jugular after a five minute staring contest with Salem's brother via Skype.  When Bailey had had the time to not only Google Michi's Japanese boyband but also manage to wrangle an on-the-money outfit, Salem would probably never know…until he scoured Bailey's browser history later.  "You went as Michi, really?  That's a definite Japanese glam metal look you're rocking right there."

"These are _your_ jeans," Bailey pointed out unnecessarily.

Salem frowned because he did not even want to remember where or why he'd decided to purchase sparkly, studded leather skinny jeans.  The best decision he'd ever made had been hiding them from himself or keeping them so that Bailey could wear them because his ass and thighs in them were a spectacular sight.

"Oh."

"Yeah." Bailey smiled impishly and tugged on a lock of Salem's completely black hair.  "I don't think I've ever seen you go monochromatic before."

He grimaced. "Well, I'm supposed to be posing as you: boring.  Don't get used to it. It's on temporary, and it's coming out tonight."

"So…does that mean I get to see it in all of its bleached out glory?"

"Nope. I've already bought my next color: orange."

Bailey stared at him for a beat before asking slowly, "Orange?"

"Like orange-y orange, you know?  No Isla Fisher natural orange."

"Orange?" Bailey repeated skeptically, shaking his head.

"Maybe not orange then?"

"Maybe not," Bailey said slowly.

Someone choked in surprise, and Salem and Bailey turned their heads in tandem, Bailey leaning forward and craning his neck passed Salem to see their receptionist (dressed like Tinkerbell for the record) gaping at Bailey, her pale pink Cosmo dripping from her chin.  Bailey smiled shyly and waved a little while Salem bit his bottom lip to fight back laughter.

Harley appeared behind her while Nihal, frowning down at the girl before rolling her eyes. She clapped her hands together and the girl jumped.  "Seriously, sweetheart, no need to stare.  You see Salem almost every day he decided to grace us with his presence for work."

Salem laughed. "Shut the fuck up. I'm there every day."

"Except days where you bail for all day sex marathons," Regulus remarked.

Bailey colored, and Salem smirked, "That only happened once.  And don't pretend everyone's not thankful I'm not longer living out of the office."  They shuttered in unison, and Salem nodded knowingly, smirking before his eyes fell back on their awed and still shell-shocked Tinkerbell.  Salem sighed and ran a hand over his face, devoid of any piercing for the same reason Bailey had decided to rifle through Salem's belongings until he'd found his magnetic ones, which were little more than keepsakes from the good old days when his mother had had veto power of over things like facial piercings and tattoos––he'd gone all out and had copied Michi's four up each ear, the one in his nostril, and the one in his eyebrow that matched Salem's.

"Adrienne," Salem drawled.

"You're…oh my God, he's––" Adrienne turned to Nihal who raised his eyebrows as he studied Bailey knowingly. Bailey squirmed at Salem side, arm dropping as he took a step away from him, not that it would help any. Nihal read people the way that Salem's grandmother read erotica: incessantly, easily, transparently. There was no hiding from Nihal's power of deduction.

"Arthur Bailey from Arsenal," Carter finished for her.

Adrienne squealed and practically leapt on Bailey who froze and looked over at Salem. Salem tensed, face hardening as he snagged a glass of _something_ off of a passing tray and downed a gulp.  Bailey frowned, shoulders sagging as he gently tried to pry Adrienne off of him.  "Hey, I'm Adrienne."

"Hi." Bailey said carefully, shifting uncomfortably and shooting Salem a desperate look.

Salem was an asshole–– _a jealous asshole_ ––and didn't help, tossing back another swig of alcohol.  To make matters even worse, that was the moment Dane chose to wander over, two Guinnesses in hand and Georgia trailing behind with a borderline predatory glean in her eye focused entirely on Bailey.

Well, then.

Salem finished his cocktail and gladly took the proffered beer.  Bailey shot him a dark look, and Regulus looked between the pair of them before shooting a look to Nihal that said he wished he could bow out of this gracefully but no longer saw a way to do so.

"Bailey," Georgia purred, "good to see you _again_." She might as well have straddled him and screamed 'I want you to fuck me' to the whole room. Her outfit was bad enough, the kind of look that would have made Playboy bunnies, Daisy Duke, and strippers alike all raise their eyebrows and wonder whether she knew what clothes _were_ because her decision to show up to their _company party_ as 'Jane' was ill-advised when her version of Jane wasn't yellow-dress, genteel British scientist lady Jane but loincloth and string bikini top Jane.  Those kinds of clothes seemed particularly poorly suited for jungle living.  Given the way Bailey had tilted his head and narrowed his eyes to study her clinically before looking at Salem in a clear 'what the actual fuck' manner, he agreed. Automatically, Salem's lips curled into a wry smile.

"Georgia," Bailey replied genially, "you look…cold."

Salem coughed to try and cover his laughter while Harley hid her own smile behind her drink. Nihal just shared a look of amusement with Regulus, and Dane tilted his head at her questioningly.

Adrienne who was still entirely too on top of Bailey for Salem's fragile emotional state looked Georgia up and down.  Dane was practically salivating for that potential cat fight.  And their DJ who'd somehow been likened to being the future Dead Mau5 just seemed amused and entirely unimpressed by the whole thing, if a little too turned on by Georgia's display.  "You two know each other?"

Georgia offered her a wane smile, "Well enough."

Bailey balked, and Salem choked on his Guinness.  Carter had the wherewithal to try and change the subject before either woman tried to pee on Bailey to mark their territory or Salem, who was dangerously approaching possessive, clawed their eyes out…or, at least, _Adrienne's_ because she was _still motherfucking touching Bailey like she had a goddamned right to_.  She didn't.

"So, is it true you're up for captaincy?"

"I hope not," Bailey paled.

Adrienne's hand skimmed up Bailey's chest, nail catching on his nipple through his hole-y, destroyed/distressed shirt (that actually _belonged_ to Michi who'd left it on accident when he'd stayed over the summer).  Tensing up, Bailey held his breath and shot another sheepish, pleading look to Salem.  Salem who was grinding his teeth and clenching his glass a little too tightly in his hand, refusing to look at Bailey, focusing his gaze instead n Georgia who was stabbing Adrienne with her _eyes_.

Dane shared a long look with Harley while Regulus and Nihal cut Salem a glance first before sharing a look with each other, which is promptly when Nihal decided to step in, getting in between Bailey and Adrienne to wrap Bailey in a too-friendly hug. Harley quirked an eyebrow in amusement, and Salem pretended not to notice Regulus whisper something in Adrienne's ear that had her paling and nodded and scampering far, far away from Bailey, not far enough, but far.  Nihal whispered lowly in Bailey's ear, and Salem watched the tension drain of Bailey's body as he nodded, smiling gratefully at Nihal as he stepped back.

"I'm Nihal Farswhal."

Bailey nodded as he placed him. "Harley's fiancé."

"Unfortunately," Harley joked while Dane rolled his eyes and Nihal reached over to tug on her ponytail.  She pouted.

"My head of HR," Salem finished for Bailey who looked over at him nervously. Sighing, Salem smiled wryly at him, and Bailey flushed and relaxed, edging closer to Salem who took the hint and bridged the distance between them, knocking their arms together and nodding in thanks at Dane and Nihal.  "I think you know everyone else here."

"Except the tart," Georgia remarked, leaning closer to Bailey who tensed and pressed closer to Salem as she pressed a hand to his chest and whispered conspiratorially, "That was Adrienne."

"Right," Bailey cut a glance to Salem who sighed and shrugged.

Adrienne might have been a violation but Georgia was an unstoppable force.  There was absolutely nothing he could do about _her_.  Bailey scowled.

"And me!" The DJ said, and they all turned to Carter who grinned like the douche-y tool Salem had suspected he was. Over-confident. Cocky.  Arrogant.  "I'm Carter Skeet."

 "Okay?"

Salem bit back a smile as he told the DJ, "He's not much into 21st century music."

"Techno…hypno…dub-step…all that bullshit is bullshit."  Bailey nodded.

Carter's lips tightened, and he raised his eyebrows at Bailey, obviously angry.

"Okay," Salem clapped his hands together, "Enough of this powwow."

Dane nodded, "Excellent because I'm officially out of alcohol so I'm gonna––" he pointed to the bar behind him and fled while Harley narrowed her eyes on him.

She glanced over at Nihal, "Can we stalk him until we actually _meet_ his girlfriend? None of you have met her either, right?"  Harley asked everyone who shook their heads.

Nihal laughed and nodded, letting her take his hand and tow him towards where Dane had disappeared to. He waved over his shoulder. "I'll see you all tomorrow. It was nice to meet you, Bailey!" He winked at Bailey who colored and looked down at his feet.

_What the fuck?_

Regulus side-eyed Carter until the DJ returned his look with a malevolent glare that left Regulus rolling his eyes and turning to face Salem, Bailey, and Georgia who was methodically invading Bailey's space.  He paused and frowned, looking between Salem and Georgia who'd yet to notice the black looks Salem tossed at her as she pressed her barely clothed body against Bailey. Bailey who looked like he wished he was _anywhere_ else.  When her lips pressed against his neck, he startled and darted a look to Salem who'd never wanted to rip out Georgia's extension more than he did _right fucking now_.

Eyes wide, Regulus bailed discreetly.

"I need a spliff," Salem commented point-blank tonelessly.

Bailey flinched and shot a look over to Salem who shook his head.  He was agitated why the fuck _wouldn't_ he be agitated. It was soul-sucking _Georgia_ touching and necking _his_ Bailey like she had a fucking _right_ to even breathe the same air as him.  He fished his wallet out of his pocket, fighting the violent urge to hurl when he saw Georgia's tongue come out to lick a stripe up the underside of Bailey's ear.  He froze, and she leaned up to whisper, "Why don't you and I—"

Salem fled, only just hearing the whisper of "I need to use the loo" over the sound of his own ringing ears.

A hand caught on his arm, spinning him around and pushing him into a shadowy alcove towards the back of the club.  Bailey's hard body boxed him in, picking the joint from his fingers, "Do you really need this right now?"

Actually, he kinda did, but with a slow grind of Bailey's hips, Salem grunted and shook his head.

"It's a near thing, but if you've got any better ideas to help me relax…" he trailed off suggestively and Bailey grinned and gave Salem a long, heated, filthy kiss before dropping down to his knees in front of him, dragging the shorts down along with.

And if Bailey gave Salem a blowjob and fingered him in the back of a club, that was hardly the picture that ended up on _The Mirror_ the next morning anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the last chapter until I get settled into life in the UK and as a university student. (Whoop freshmen year all over again...) I will be back. I have a plan for this story and I will finish it.


	28. "Do I Wanna Know?" by Arctic Monkeys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Thanksgiving goes FUBAR

**Bailey gets some love**

At a Halloween party hosted by friend and tech mogul, Salem Petrov, with The Daiki Company, the football star was not only treated to the exceeding talents of up-and-coming DJ sensation, Carter Skeet, at one of London's hottest young nightclubs, Club Deccord, but also got a lot of love from the female attendees. He was photographed with two different girls before disappearing from the party's main room for almost an hour and returning with swollen lips and mussed hair. While the company's official representative refuses to comment on just who and what went down in the club's back rooms with the ladies, but one such woman in attendance did say, "He's young and attractive, of course the ladies love him, and he hardly _dislikes_ that." Well, he _is_ a teenaged professional athlete. We can only expect so much, and hell if we don't love a scandal.

 

**Text message from Bailey to Salem**

**Bailey** : Wut shit do u hav me readng?

 **Salem:** Dynasty of Ghosts?

 **Bailey:** Not tht 1. Was ok

 **Salem:** Love the Sinner?

 **Bailey:** With the gay gangbanger and cop...?

 **Salem:** Admit you enjoyed it, liar!

 **Bailey:** No comment.

 **Salem:** Not Way Off Plan cause I know you'd love that shit.

 **Bailey:** -.-

 **Bailey:** Srsly...turned on/creeped out

 **Salem:** So...must be Choices. The one with the prince(?) and the sex slave.

 **Bailey:** & i rpt: wut shit do u hav me readng

 **Salem:** I can get my hands on one of those cages...

 **Bailey:** Yeah...no

 **Salem:** Orgy?

 **Bailey:** In theory? Fun. In practice..?

 **Salem:** Point X.X

 **Salem:** Its ok. I'll invest in cuffs while you're gone.

 **Bailey:** U thnk ill be into tht?

 **Salem:** I know you, Arthur. And yes, Ana Steele, you're already hard aren't you?

 **Bailey:** Fuck u.

 **Salem:** I'm gonna jerk off to you playing.

 **Bailey:** Omfg

 **Salem:** Don't blow a load on the plane.

 **Bailey:** Fuck u so hard.

 **Salem:** Counting on it ;)

 **Salem:** 23rd Thanksgiving (American). Your place?

 

**Carey Ahearn (@carey_me_home)**

@ArthurBailey was a total freak on the flight but was still able to help us pull out a win

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

@ArthurBailey thanks for that mind blowing performance

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

@Salem_Daiki you know I'm always happy to be service

 

To: mariefarcier@interpol.int

From: lukasbellamy@interpol.int

Subject: Cyber Analysis

Bonjour Marie,

Obviously, we can't trace the IP address, couldn't then and can't now, but what I can tell you is it was rerouted through primarily UK servers.  Honestly, I'd say outer London just because this whole coming out of retirement was for a story that Zackery Russell was doing on a football player for Arsenal, Arthur Bailey. I'd check with his manager or the team's PR.

Lukas Bellamy

Cyber Analyst, Interpol

* * *

Bailey almost didn't want to go back, took his time in the showers washing the sweat and dirty and spare blades of grass off of him in scalding water until his skin turned red with irritation.  When he finally stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist and tugging at his still too short curly locks halfway between too long and too short, he resembled a lobster, steamed, and Carey tossed him a strange look, leaning up against his locker.

"Sterile again?" Carey inquired archly, exchanging an 'I don't even know' look with Wes as he tossed his bag over his shoulder and brushed out the door.

"I'm fine," Bailey remarked automatically.

Carey's eyebrows rose higher on his forehead, and Bailey bit back a curse.  Poor judgement on his part, really, those were, perhaps, the ultimate words that meant 'I am so very very far from okay,' which he _was_ , admittedly, not that he wanted to have a conversation about his OCD acting up while he was practically naked in he middle of the locker room.

"Right, yeah, alright then mate," Carey started as Bailey tossed him a dark look and brushed passed him. Ignoring the unspoken order to let it go, Carey whirled around to face Bailey, far more comfortable watching Bailey pull on his clothes than Bailey felt being watched, but, then, not much seemed to make Carey uncomfortable least of all someone else's discomfort. "Is this about Rafa?"

_God no, it's certainly not about that absolute twat._

Months ago, when Bailey had been a walking time-bomb being blackmailed, Rafa had seemed to want to make amends for their nearly year long stint of non-friendship and passive-aggressive hatred. Needless to say, at the time, Bailey hadn't had it in him to deal with the emotional back and forth that would come along with that.

And now when he felt more settled––if a hell of a lot more jaded than he'd already been––and happy being back in his best friend's good graces (and his bed, _especially_ his bed), Rafa wanted nothing to do with him again.  He was, as Salem had put it bluntly over a bowl of carbonara and their third consecutive showing of _Maleficent_ , an emotional yo-yo, and Bailey had neither the time nor desire to make any kind of friendship work between the pair of them when Rafa couldn't seem to decide whether he wanted to be friends or not. They weren't in primary school anymore. The level of ridiculousness about the whole issue was astounding.

"Rafa seems to have decided that my emotional instability makes for the only appropriate time to rekindle at three year friendship, and I have decided that his behavior is childish and I want nothing to do with him.  So much so that he could go choke on his own dick," Bailey answered with blunt honesty, pulling a knit jumper over his head while Carey coughed in surprise. Slamming his locker closed with unnecessary force, Bailey turned to Carey, adjusting the strap of his bag, "There's honestly nothing wrong.  I'm just entirely uncomfortable in social situations."

"Social situations?" Carey replied when he'd recovered, raising his eyebrows.  "Oh, wait, does that mean you have a date?"

Bailey rolled his eyes and brushed passed Carey. Carey who followed with with barely concealed glee.

"You do, don't you?"

"I don't have a date."

Which was true.  He _didn't_.

What Bailey had was an unwelcome invasion of his pristine house by a number of guests he wasn't particularly sure he'd even like to cook an unnecessarily large, high calorie dinner he probably couldn't even eat in his kitchen.

Bailey didn't do Thanksgiving.

Despite his mother being American, Bailey had _never_ done Thanksgivings.  His grandparents had always been of the mindset that it was a holiday celebrating the beginning of a century of Native American oppression, segregation, and relocation that shouldn't be glorified as some kind of mealtime peace treaty. And his father had never bothered trying to hold on to any of the American traditions that Bailey probably should have grown up knowing _something_ about.  Thanksgivings would have hardly been fun for him anyway as he didn't particularly _like_ majority of his family members and had less than no friends, really.

"You have _something_ ," Carey persisted as they made their way out to the parking lot.

Bailey paused with a sigh beside his car door and leveled Carey with a droll look, "Besides you being an absolute nuisance?"

"Besides that," he beamed.

_How do you raise a child when you practically are one?_

Bailey rolled his eyes and grimaced, "I have a Thanksgiving thing."

"You celebrate Thanksgiving?"

"No."

He closed his door before Carey could continue, effectively ending the conversation as he flipped on the ignition and offered Carey a cheeky wave as he drove passed.

Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, Bailey frowned, confused and surprised as to why Salem hadn't texted him yet about his ETA like the absolute maniac he was.

Salem didn't have a lot of buttons you shouldn't press, but timeliness was one of them, not that Bailey was late yet, but he would be by the time he arrived back at his house.

His _invaded_ house.

His invaded house he'd been reluctant to allow for use over an inane holiday he didn't even celebrate, but Salem had given him a single pleading look and he'd folded like a terrified, novice poker player.  Game over. He hadn't even asked _why_ it was necessary to do it at _his_ house and not at Kanani, Craig, and Georgia's Westminster flat where they'd done it last year. Instead, he'd just pursed his lips and conceded when Salem had sworn up and down that they were going to 'keep it small.'

Small, Bailey realized as he pulled to a stop on the curb just outside his house was just a four letter word to Salem.

There were entirely too many cars cluttering up his street and driveway to consider this in any way 'small'.

With a sigh, Bailey flicked off the car and slowly meandered through the maze of cars in his driveway towards the door. Someone cleared their throat pointedly, and Bailey sighed, looking heavenward before pasting on a polite smile and turning to find his neighbor watering his roses and peering up at him over the gate separating their lawns.  "Hello Mr. Tarris."

"Arthur," the older man replied, "having a party?"

"No sir," Bailey answered tonelessly. "Just a little get-together."

Mr. Tarris scoffed, and Bailey groaned internally.

_Why me?_

"Just make sure it doesn't get too loud. Don't want to upset the missus. She just got the grandbabies off to sleep, yeah?"

Bailey nodded slowly and narrowed his eyes. "It really _is_ just a friendly small thing.  Thanksgiving party, actually.  There shouldn't be any loud noises at all."

"That'd be a nice change," Mr. Tarris said lowly enough that it hadn't been meant for Bailey's ears. He'd heard it nonetheless, blushing furiously.  "I didn't realize you were American."

Fake smile growing brittle, Bailey said with cold politeness, "Have a good evening, Mr. Tarris," before wheeling on his heels and marching up to the front door and throwing himself inside.

He paused in the entryway, his eyes skirting around the room as he walked, the only sounds seeming to come from the crackle and hiss of something cooking on the stove and the low sounds of the television. Shoes had been carefully taken off, paired together, and stacked against the wall with coats seeming to have been placed properly in the closet by the door.  Everything looked almost exactly as he'd left it that morning when he'd darted off to practice after giving Salem a long, dirty kiss in the doorway that had left him moaning and had gotten Bailey's ass a smarting whack in retaliation.

And as obsessive-compulsive as he was in regards to the state of his house, Bailey thought this level of quiet and complacency seemed nothing short of ominous bordering on bizarre.

Bailey hadn't met Salem's family, but he'd met his friends and couldn't imagine that they were usually this silent or still.

"Hello?"  Bailey called out as he stepped into the living room, pausing as Kanani, Patrick,  Georgia, and almost all of Salem's business partners looked up at him, grim-faced and red-eyed from the couches.  A game of American football flashed across the screen, the volume too low and their attitudes too subdued.  He opened his mouth, paused and frowned before his gaze settled on Kanani, "Where's Tasha?"

"Kitchen," Kanani replied hoarsely, her face ashen.  She forced a painful smile at Bailey before cuddling into Catriona as she sat down beside her, burying her face in the curve of her girlfriend's neck.

The better question would have been 'where's Salem?' but with the way his heart was pounding, palms sweating, mind racing, the lack of text messages wanting to know where he was and the fact that he hadn't started in on him about promising to eat _some_ of the food his mother made at least, Bailey wasn't sure he _wanted_ to ask the question, wasn't sure if he could bear to hear the answer.

Cautiously, Bailey trekked from the living room into his kitchen, startling to a halt just inside the doorway.

Bailey had seen pictures of Natasha Petrov and her boyfriend Damien even if he'd never seen them in person. Surprisingly young and unbelievably beautiful, the images he'd seen of her reminded Bailey of a more fine-boned Catherine Zeta-Jones.  Salem had dozens of pictures with the woman he'd said had been his biggest supporter and best friend growing up.  Hundreds upon hundreds of printed and virtual images of them in all situations in almost all fifty states in a handful of foreign countries, but Bailey had never seen her looking like this, eyes bright with tears, rimmed in red, her shoulders slumped in defeat and her hands wrapped tightly around his Arsenal mug, and staring into the depths of the light brown liquid inside like it could give her the secrets to the universe.

Damien sat beside her with his arm around her shoulder and his head close to her, whispering quietly to her while Charlie watched them with a grim face and red eyes, checking on the food ever so often. He ran a shaky hand through his hair and swallowed back a look of shock and sadness that flitted across his face as he looked down at Natasha.

Bailey's blood chilled as he looked from person to person in the room, forcing himself to keep his breathing steady as he took everybody in.

Charlie noticed him first, pausing as he looked up and staring at Bailey for a moment apologetically before he forced a slight smile, better than Kanani's attempt but not by much.  "Bailey."

"What's wrong?"  Bailey demanded finally.

Damien glanced up at him, "Hi."

Bailey frowned at him in frustration, and Natasha looked from Damien to Bailey to Charlie and back to Bailey again. She swallowed before she asked, "You're Kostya's Bailey."

"I...yeah," Bailey nodded, "I...is he...he's not..."

Bailey couldn't even get the words out.

Damien shook his head.  "Nothing like _that._ Konstantin's perfectly fine, or, well, he _will_ be."

Natasha whipped her head around to glare are her boyfriend, hissing, "You don't know that Damien. God, for once can you not be so fucking passive. My son's...my son is...I can't even fucking breath."

Charlie moved forward and grasped her free hand in his, squeezing it tightly before looking up at Bailey. "He was arrested."

"Arrested?"  Bailey shot back, eyebrows raised and tone skeptical.

He couldn't imagine what Salem could have done to warrant being arrested, but it calmed him down, before his whole body had spun through a whole list of worst-case scenarios (murder, kidnap, fiery fatal crash, train accident, some kind of Tony Stark level bullshit about being taken and tortured by terrorists).  Jail, Bailey could handle.  Jail, Bailey could fix...maybe.

"Not _arrested_ ," Damien intervened, shaking his head while Natasha huffed.

"Just because he wasn't _officially_ charged..." Natasha mumbled darkly.

Bailey's eyebrows rose, and Charlie rolled his eyes and answered the unspoken question.  "Salem was taken in for questioning."

"By the police?"

"By Interpol," Natasha said shortly simultaneously with Charlie's toneless intonation.

Interpol?

"The international would-be police force? I thought they handled white collar crimes like forgery and art theft."

Charlie blinked at him, lips quirking up into a smile, "Salem totally convinced you to watch _White Collar_ , didn't he?"

Bailey narrowed his eyes on Charlie while Natasha swatted him and declared weakly, "That's a good show."

"That's an _excellent_ show," Charlie replied.

Damien clarified, "They're based out of France. International Criminal Police Organization. They don't _just_ deal in art theft.  Konstantin was taken in for questioning––"

" _Interrogation_ ," Charlie interrupted.

Damien ignored him, "––by the cyber crimes unit."

Freezing, Bailey's eyes went wide while Charlie's narrowed on him infinitesimally.  Now, Bailey understood, though he really wished he didn't.  His mind replayed over the short conversation they'd had the morning after Salem had hacked a man's life to save Bailey's reputation.

 

> _"What did you do, Konstantin?"_
> 
> _"It's probably best that you don't know, honestly."_
> 
> _"Are you going to be arrested?"_
> 
> _"Hopefully not_ _.  Don't worry about me, Arthur.  I've been playing this game for a long time."_

And then Bailey had allowed his worries to be distracted by sex.

Bailey was going to kill Salem once he got his hands on him, then fuck him, then kill him again for blatantly lying to him despite Bailey being gullible and weak enough to not only be distracted by him but also live on believing the lie.  Bailey had never asked what pushed Salem from his work as a white-hat hacker and occasional project partner with Anonymous into very early retirement.  He'd assumed the out of whack ten-year plan that had included Silicon Valley and his own start-up, MIT and internships with Google and Apple, but Bailey wondered how much of that was an unspoken excuse to hide how terrified Salem was of getting caught and arrested for crimes that would have him locked away longer than serial killers.

"They said my _solnyshka_ is some kind of international hacker whose dismantled government programs, stolen secrets, and is a threat to global cyber security. That's..." Natasha trailed off before the word ridiculous, her eyes skirting around at Damien narrowing his eyes on the wall, Charlie who was plating the food in the pan with intensity, and Bailey who gaped at her for a moment before snapping his jaw shut. "That's _true_ , isn't it? Kostya _is_ that hacker, isn't he?"

Bailey paused and released a huff of breath, ducking his head and nodding.

Natasha barked out a harsh laugh, tone sour, "And all of you knew?"

Again silence.

"How long?"  Natasha whirled on Damien.  He clenched his jaw, hesitation clear on every single line of his face but Natasha shook her head, "Don't start, Damien.  Don't try to wiggle your way out of this one.  I want to know how long."

Natasha's tone was steely, dangerous, prickly.  Charlie and Bailey exchanged a loaded glance on Damien's behalf before Bailey interrupted, unwilling to watch Salem's father figure be verbally eviscerated at his kitchen table, especially not when all he really wanted or cared to focus on was what was going to happen to Salem now.

"His company has lawyers, right?  Excellent ones that deal primarily with cyber laws or whatever," Bailey started, looking between the three of them and willing anyone to give him some information instead of a martial fight or depression. If it came down to it, Bailey would call his own lawyer, but he doubted that either his agent or his lawyer would be too happy to see him getting involved neck deep in an international cyber security case.

"We do," a voice said from behind, and Bailey glanced over his shoulder, watching as Nihal brushed passed him to pour himself another cup of coffee, his whole face shuttered.  "We called in Reina, our solicitor, and she's going to rendezvous with Salem in France. She's keeping us updated, and it doesn't look _horrible_.  The thing is that their whole case basically hangs on this one incident and they're probably going to use it to push for more information."

Nihal leveled Bailey with a look of such intensity that Bailey immediately bristled defensively before frowning with confusion.  "What incident?"

"Don't know.  But it was recent, and unless he has an alibi, they're probably going to hang him on circumstantial evidence, or, at the very least, drag his name through the mud, along with the company's."  Natasha huffed, and Nihal shrugged, "This company is his baby, and my life support. I love Salem, but I also need a job."

"I feel like being linked to an infamous hacker might be pretty good for the company, at least you know that he's good at what he's doing."

Nihal tossed Charlie a dry look over the mug of his coffee, and Bailey's mind went over everything again and again before he nodded resolutely, "I need to go to France."

Charlie's eyebrows rose, and he pursed his lips but nodded once, waving Bailey off. Natasha gaped while Damien smiled. Nihal frowned, "What––?"

"Don't worry, I'll get him back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so incredibly sorry. I promised (months ago) that I would get to the UK and updated this story as regularly as I had been before (and I didn't evidently). I know where I want this story to go and how I want it to end, and I am determined to see it done. However, I will post at least one more chapter within the next few days, but otherwise, all of my notes and plans and info about the characters and timelines are in Atlanta (while I am in London) and then I'd written a bunch of this out in December (and then my laptop got stolen...fuckers) which made me extremely discouraged from writing anything.
> 
> This summer, this will see a lot more momentum, but right now, it'll be sporadic updates at best due to exams and me having to pack up my room and get everything into storage before I leave for the summer.
> 
> Sorry I'm so mean, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter, though I'd like to point out that as I am not an international criminal and have never been in trouble with the police, every bit of my knowledge surrounding these types of procedures are tenuous and based entirely on research.


	29. "Up All Night (ft. Nicki Minaj)" by Drake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are interrogations and awesome lawyers Salem's never met before

**Natasha Petrov (@Mama_Petrov)**

What goes on when I'm not looking in this family? #HappyThanksgiving #Trouble

 

**RT by @876NihalFars**

**Charles Beck (@CharlieBeck)**

We know who you really are #prayers #love #respect

 

**Georgia Hanson (@ChangedGeorgia)**

Well well well you learn new things every day

 

**Text message to Harry Benton Sterling**

**Bailey:** Hey Harry. it's Arthur Bailey. Caroline Bonfils gave me ur number.

 **Harry Benton Sterling:** What can I help you with Mr. Bailey?

 **Bailey:** Salem Petrov the CEO of the Daiki Company got arrested by Interpol for hacking and international cyber crimes.

 **Bailey:** The case hangs on his alibi so they're digging. His coworker is afraid itll effect the business

 **Bailey:** Im going to france

 **Harry Benton Sterling:** You want my help?

 **Bailey:** She says ur the best

 **Harry Benton Sterling:** Give me the number or email of on of his partners. I'll meet you in France. Don't say anything until I get there.

 

To: nihal.farswhal@daiki.co.uk

From: harrybentonsterling@gmail.co.uk

Subject: Daiki Company Meeting

Mr. Farswhal,

My name's Harry Benton-Sterling. I'm a PR rep for Dissident Management currently, but that's a bit of a tale. The point is Arthur Bailey called me and asked me to take on dealing with this situation. So, I'm going to meet Bailey in France to try and help get Salem out of holding.

I need from you to give me the password to your company Twitter so that I can handle updates. Make sure all of your employees know not to comment on any question they're asked about the situation. Tell Georgia Hanson I saw her Tweet and I'm not impressed and that his mother should calm it down for now. There's never a reason to take to Twitter in times like this.  Ever.

I'll handle all of the publicity as long as I'm able along with Rosemary Ireland, my friend and coworker.  We'll get this taken care of as quickly as possible.

Harry Benton-Sterling

**Rosemary Ireland (@rosieposie)**

What kind of shit does my best friend get me into? I mean really...

* * *

Salem was kind of terrified. Despite all of his younger years of cyber hacktivism, it had all happened virtually.  He'd never had to face anyone he hacked, never been questioned by any cops, hell the closest he'd come had been the once or twice he'd squared off against some tech wizard from an agency while trying to hack through the firewalls, which–– _again_ ––had all happened behind the screen of a computer.  The only technical trouble he'd ever faced head on had been his few trips to the principal's office for excessive talking in class and whenever he'd pissed off his mother.

Being arrested by Interpol on suspicions of cyber hacking were not in his really in his repertoire. Three years of college and very good people skills had not prepared him to be brought in for questioning in front of his mother and business partners on Thanksgiving, escorted to France, stuck in a cell, and questioned about his ongoings extensively. The whole situation had been nerve-wracking to say the least, but even more nerve-wracking than the blatant hostility and looming possibly prison time he'd get for his activities had been when another agent had stalked into the room, whispered in the first agent's ear, and then they'd both split, leaving him sitting quietly in the room, twiddling his thumbs for the last...well he wasn't particularly sure how long because they hadn't exactly provided him with a watch.

 _It's like being in a casino.  No sense of time,_ Salem thought to himself wryly, tipping his head back and blowing his overlong bangs out of his face.

The only thing scarier than being charged and indicted on crimes that he _had_ , admittedly, committed was the terror of what his mother would say about it when she next saw him, _especially_ if when she next saw him was behind bars in a monochromatic jumpsuit or in a courtroom pleading his case to a jury.

His mother, for her part, might damn well just throw him under the bus in any case.  If Natasha Petrovna was anything, it was a stickler for law and order.  No one was above the law, not even her son and definitely not her son who hacked several international government agencies for whatever the reason.

 _What reason?_   Salem thought to himself viciously, scowling. _There was literally no reason at all for you to decide to become Julian Assange.  None at all._

He'd started young. Too young, probably, to know better. He'd been cocky, arrogant, and entirely too self-assured in his own ability as a hacker to really care about the consequences of his own actions so on the off chance that this was actually karma kicking him in the ass, karma might actually have a point.

What had put him on the map had been his not -so-subtle hacking of the NSA, followed by the CIA, NASA, FBI, DOD, and the Pentagon, none of which had done any damage but only to see if he could do it after he'd accidentally hacked into his high school's online gradebook when he'd been trying to fix a glitch on his own end of the two way mirror and later, purposefully, his mother's work tradeboard to make it easier for her to use.  It had caught both the right and the wrong kind of attention, his hacking.

On the one hand, he'd managed to avoid ever getting a job in high school, the semi-legal and semi-legitimate jobs that he'd gotten through hacking providing more than enough pocket money for him to get away with and his mother never directly how he'd come into it.  On the other hand, when Anonymous had managed to pull him into their little corner of crazy, Salem should have realized nothing could have ended well for him.  It hadn't for Lolzsec, and Salem doubted that he could have ended any better, even if he'd only been on the periphery when it came to his work with them.

It hardly mattered now. Anonymous managed to piss off 99% of the world's population in power, which had been the main problem, and Salem had been brazen enough to not bother hiding who they had helping them.

Hindsight was usually 20/20, but, really, foresight should have been too.

"Can you help us dismantle PRISM?" had definitely been something even dumbass younger Salem should have said no to.

The door swung open again, and Salem peeked up through the curtain of his hair, quirking and eyebrow at the man standing in the doorway.

The man that Salem highly doubted was a midlevel Interpol grunt.

The man that Salem had otherwise never met before.

The man in question looked like he'd just hurried over from the set of a GQ photoshoot, and, frankly, his three piece Armani suit probably cost about as much.  Everything about the man was pale from the roots of his platinum blonde hair to his nearly translucent skin to the palest blue eyes that Salem had ever seen in his life, which seemed entirely at odds with the dark navy suit that had practically molded to his body.  Despite how pale and utterly _pretty_ he was, with no other way to describe him, the man also made imposing seem like a weak word to sum up how he made Salem feel just by levelling those shock eyes on him.

Salem shifted uncomfortably, and the man quirked a brow at him, sitting down at the table across from him without saying a word.

"Who––?"

"Alexander Sullivan. I'm a defense attorney, and now one of your only defenses against the numerous and very serious accusations that you're up against."

Salem paused and cocked his head at Sullivan quizzically.

He _had_ a lawyer, The Daiki Company's lawyer, who, admittedly, wasn't necessarily equipped to deal with an international criminal case like this, but one that Salem trusted somewhat implicitly.  Reina Vasquez had almost exclusively handled all the legal hoops that the company had had to jump through when it came to patents, the government, and their contracts.  Equipped to handle the situation or not, Salem had let Reina do her job and followed her cues, because he could hardly rely on himself alone to handle this. So where the hell _this_ guy had come from, Salem couldn't even begin to fathom.

"I didn't call you. Reina's—"

"Extremely competent at her job," Sullivan interrupted.  " _This_ is not her job."

"I don't want to sound ungrateful, but where the hell did you even come from?"

Sullivan sighed and shook his head at Salem before pasting on a brittle, fake smile that only prompted Salem to narrow his eyes at the hardass attorney.  The hardass _American_ attorney he'd never met, never heard of, and never called. "If you're aiming for my resume, I'm a junior partner at Thompson & Hardwicke, the same firm you hired to do all your corporate work.  Yes, I'm American.  Yes, I studied international law.  Yes, I'm young, but I'm also the best at what I do, which isn't me exaggerating my skills, it's a goddamn fact."

Salem blinked at him without interrupting. If he was being truthful, aside from the dogtags hanging around his neck and the generally sour demeanor, Sullivan reminded Salem a lot of himself, at least on a professional level.  On a personal level, it wouldn't _kill_ the man to have a personality or a sense of humor, especially in his line of work.

"If you're talking about my personal involvement in this matter, Reina agreed to hand the situation over to me—"

"Without consulting me?"  Salem demanded hotly, wondering when his life hand gotten so wildly out of his own control.

Sullivan looked at him dryly. "Reina Vasquez is a corporate attorney.  You're being detained and question by an international crime organization for violating half a dozen statutes of cyber laws in over seven different countries. Yes, without consulting you." He leveled Salem with a hard, pointed look that him ducking his head and grimacing.  "In any case, it was Harry who brought me in."

"Who?" Salem frowned at him in confusion.

The attorney's eyebrows rose. "Harry Benton-Sterling, I'm on his retainer.  Or, I suppose, I probably _will_ be when he gets his company up and running."

"I'm still not sure who the hell that is."

"He works PR for Dissident Management, at the moment.  He was the first person that Caroline Bonfils called when Arthur Bailey got into his little _mess_ with that kid from Swansea."  Salem froze automatically, eyeing the man across form him cautiously, but Sullivan's expression never changed and his words never faltered. "He's also the person that Arthur Bailey called to help get you out of this mess a few hours ago. You owe Harry quite a bit of money, I'm sure."

"But not you?" Salem inquired archly.

Sullivan offered him a toothy smile and shrugged, "I'll just take a chunk of Reina's retainer."

Salem rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his seat to study the too relaxed attorney across from him.  Granted, Salem supposed that being both military and trained in the art of being a levelheaded asshole at some Ivy League school, no doubt, Alexander Sullivan _would_ be the type to remain calm even in front of a firing squad sent to kill him.  Like Jason Bourne without all the mind-blowing action sequences, but something about the way the Interpol agents had disappeared from his room and the bemusement lurking in the back of Sullivan's put Salem on high alert.

Besides, PR agents for celebrities, a wayward football player who had way too much knowledge of what exactly Salem had been up to, and a pair of lawyers from the same firm but who also _weren't_ the same.

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes on Sullivan.  "Their whole case hinges on me not having an alibi that fucking sleaze bag journo got his computer hacked.  Why are you so calm about this?"

"Because I brought him," Sullivan said with a slight smirk spreading across his lips.

Automatically, Salem's hackles rose, and he played dumb, praying that this asshole hadn't meant what he thought he'd meant.  "You mean the journalist?"

"I mean your alibi."

* * *

Reina Vasquez was everything that Bailey had expected: beautiful, well-dressed, and dismissive of everything she saw as beneath her, which, in this case, included the Interpol officers, all their questions, and the paper cup of coffee that they'd offered her. Bailey was wary of her, but Harry had simply glanced between the two of them and shook his head before telling them to play nice with each other.

"You've done this before?"  Bailey had asked in a whisper as they'd been escorted into an interrogation room.

Reina had grinned and shrugged, "Not exactly, but Sully told me what to do."

 _That_ hadn't entirely inspired confidence either.

The first time that Bailey had met Alexander Sullivan had been when he'd met up with him and Harry at Charles de Gualle .  They'd shared maybe a sentence or two from the ride from the airport to the Interpol headquarters, and Bailey had decided that the man was more disconnected than himself, cold as a block of ice, and absolutely, blood-chillingly scary.  The discomfort might have stemmed from the man's first words to Bailey being the stony order: "Tell me what happened, all of it, not just the parts _you_ think I need to hear."

Sullivan was frightening enough that Bailey had complied in the same abrupt, unquestioning manner that he'd obeyed his father and his professors, but for that reason alone, he hated the man on sheer principle.

"You're saying that Daiki Konstantin Petrov stayed the whole night with you are your home in London?"

"Yes," Bailey answered curtly and with the same chillingly polite tone he used with reporters. "I'd had a rough day at practice so he came and picked me.  We ordered Chinese, and he stayed the night."

"Did he have access to a computer at any time during the night?"

Bailey blinked at him stupidly, and the agent blushed.  " _Yes._ He's the owner of an electronics company, and I'm nineteen.  He takes his laptop everywhere with him, and I keep mine the house."

"And you never saw him use the laptop once during the night?"

"No."

"When did you two go your bedrooms?"

"Late," Bailey answered curtly.

The two agents shared a look. "Can you elaborate?"

"Not really," he replied petulantly, shrugging.  "I'm not a watch.  I wasn't really paying attention."

"Before or after midnight do you think?"

Bailey tossed Reina a disbelieving look, and she nodded.  He sighed, "I don't know after, probably.  Like I said, I wasn't really paying any attention."

"Did he have access to either laptop during that time."

"Both of them. They were both in the room."

Reina glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, but Bailey kept his eyes on the two agents as they glanced at each other again, unsure quite how to proceed. They'd already gone through Bailey's laptop, Reina had assured them, and they'd found nothing, which Bailey had figured.  He wasn't sure which laptop Salem had used, but it wouldn't matter anyway. Salem would have wiped it clean regardless.

"I..." one of the agents started, "it's just..."  Bailey sighed, and the agent flushed, "You allowed him to have unrestricted access to your laptop?"

The question was hesitant, disbelieving.  Reina looked at Bailey, "You don't have to answer that."

"I wasn't really planning to, but thanks, Reina."

"We just need to know if there was any time during the evening when he was alone with a laptop."

"Because you think he's some notorious hacker," Bailey rolled his eyes before shooting a glance to Reina.

"We need an assurance from you that anything said in this room remains off record, no cameras, no recording devices, no repeating of this anywhere."

The burlier agent snorted, "And what would make us agree to that?"

"He won't speak without those assurances, and can you imagine the chastisement you'll get from the international community if you press charges and take to trial a man who wasn't even guilty of the crimes leveled against him?  Crimes that every government in the western world wants to see that particular criminal locked away for?"

Bailey waited as the agent's whispered to each other before nodding.  The second agent waved to someone outside the one-way glass and the light on the camera blinked off.  They stared at Bailey, waiting.

"Konstantin didn't have _time_ to do anything that night, and just because he had access to two computers doesn't mean he was alone with them.  I was in the room with him the whole night, the same room." The two agents frowned, doubt creeping across their faces as he offered them a bland smile as he clarified. "He's my lover. We were fucking. He wasn't alone, and he didn't have time."

The realization crossed their faces as Bailey slanted a look at Reina who grinned cheerfully at the two Interpol agents.  "Now, I think it's time to discuss NDAs, don't you?"

* * *

Bailey eyes landed on Salem just before the man hurled himself into his arms, wrapping him in a tight hug and leaning up to whisper in his ear, "Fuck, _lyubimiy_ , you didn't have to do that."

Shaking his head, Bailey glanced down at his best friend with slight smile, ignoring the collection of agents, criminals, and their entourage of attorneys and publicists and feeling utterly content with the man in his arms. "Ridiculous. Of course I did, Konstantin. You'd never survive prison." Salem paused, their eyes meeting before he threw back his head and laughed with abandon.  Bailey rolled his eyes and tugged Salem's tiny frame towards the exit, forcefully ignoring the pang inside him that demanded he kiss the man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I've literally had this chapter sitting here, ready to be posted all summer. My bad. This is what happens when I stress out about packing (to be fair they did deliver the boxes to the wrong address and then wanted to heft six super heavy boxes out of my room, through the hall, across the quad, and to the reception so...) Anyway, I'm back in the UK and hopefully over my writer's block (I'd better be since class starts in a matter of days and I'm taking three creative writing courses).


	30. "Poison" by Rita Ora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Office conflicts and familial squabbling

**Daiki Company CEO implicated in international hacking alongside Arsenal footballer**

This passed Thursday found The Daiki Company CEO, Daiki Kimura-Petrov, being arrested by Interpol on suspicion of several counts of international hacking and cyber crimes. The young, dynamic entrepreneur was accused of being involved with Anonymous as notorious hacktivist known as either Salem in the US or the Ghost King in Europe.  The charges, however, were dropped after the interrogation of Arsenal footballer, Arthur Bailey, when he arrived at the Interpol headquarters in Paris the same evening accompanied by up-and-coming publicist, Harry Benton-Sterling, and Alexander Sullivan, a superstar barrister from international firm Thompson & Hardwicke.  While Arsenal’s made no comment on their star player’s involvement in the case, but the Daiki’s Company issued a statement the day after Kimura-Petrov’s release: “These unfortunate allegations have no bearing on the continued progress of the company.  Daiki’s personal affairs are entirely separate from his business’s, though he’s open to assisting in any official investigation conducted by Interpol’.  The investigation is ongoing.

 

**Text message to Arthur Bailey**

**Salem:** If you keep playing all wily you’re going to break something.

 **Salem:** But at least you’re not a total baby about injuries like half the damn league

 **Salem:** which is not me giving you a pass for downplaying injuries, fyi

 **Bailey:** Happy bday sale! Look @u gttng old & shit

 **Salem:** First, fuck you. I’m 22.

 **Salem:** Second, you just ignored the point of that who preceding statement.

 

**The Daiki Company (@TheDaikiCo.)**

Happy 22nd birthday to our CEO @Salem_Daiki #weloveyou

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

@TheDaikiCo. @876NihalFars @D_Crawfish @HarleyBhat @RAB_Lexton which one of you conned media into posting that? #iseeyou #notimpressed

 

To: theghostsofsalem@gmail.com

Cc: harleen.bhattal@daiki.co.uk; dane.crawford@daiki.co.uk; regulus.lahey@daiki.co.uk

From: nihal.farswhal@daiki.co.uk

Subject: Christmas Party

Are we officially having a Christmas party? Because we absolutely should. I think it would be good for team morale, especially after we spent so much of this year watching Salem abuse the little techs in the development department.

We should have a Christmas party.

Nihal Farswhal

Head of Human Resources

The Daiki Company

 

**Text message to Nihal Farswhal**

**Salem:** I feel like you’re trying to go somewhere with this -_-

 **Nihal:** :D

 

To: kingarthurb@gmail.co.uk

From: susannahwhytebailey@gmail.co.uk

Subject: [no subject]

Arthur,

You’ve made it abundantly clear that you don’t want to speak with us. I suppose, in effect, I can respect that decision as much as the next mother to her child. However, it’s been ages since I’ve seen you, and there’s something important that we need to discuss. I would appreciate it if you could make it to Christmas dinner, bring your lovely friend (Kanani, is it?) and meet you nephew and your sister’s fiancé. I know you’d rather not, but it’s of vital importance and would mean much to me.

Your mother,

Susannah Bailey

* * *

The thing about the ‘bright little minds’ that Salem had willingly hired months ago to help him with development was that they were not him, which meant they were out of his control, which meant that it was physically painful for him to watch them run around and pick apart his design ideas.  He could, at the very least, appreciate that they were brilliant, each of them special, unique, and highly capable—not that he’d doubted Nihal’s ability to hire competence but _seeing_ it was a wondrous reassurance.

Eyes narrowed with more judgment than intended, Salem sat atop a table in the lab, cross-legged and exhausted with his ombre purple hair twisted up into a messy knot at the top of his head and his third cup of coffee that day alone clenched in hand.  Every now and then one of the kids would glance over at him apprehensively and startle at finding Salem already watching before tittering nervously and looking away hastily.

It had become a habitual, and Salem always responded with an eye roll, a dismissive shake of his head, and a generous sip from his coffee cup.

And with odds like that it was no wonder he’d been living on caffeine.

Hillary Moyer huffed and tossed down her paper, thin hands clutching her kinky cinnamon curls in an uncharacteristic display frustration. She’d applied upon graduating from SoCal and had spent every summer since freshmen year interning at a number of electronics companies and start-ups.  According to Nihal, who’d hired her personally, Hillary had fought her way into this industry, climbing up from working minimum wage jobs at McDonalds and Right Aid to pay for college and get out of the Nebraska trailer park she’d grown up in.

A genius, not unlike the other dozen fresh college graduates, but with decidedly more stoicism…or, at least, it had seemed up until this moment.

“This makes no fucking sense!” Hillary exclaimed, pointing up at the equation they’d been debating over for the better part of the week. She met Salem’s eyes unflinchingly and crossed her arms over her chest, jaw clenched. “This isn’t possible.”

Salem quirked a pierced eyebrow and shook his head.  “It is.”

“It _isn_ _’_ _t_ ,” she argued.

With a bland smile, Salem’s eyes scanned over the assembled crowd of twenty year olds who seemed torn between agreement with Hillary’s outburst and obvious uncertainty when faced with the prospect of expressly disagreeing with the mercurial twenty-two year old signing their paychecks.  _That_ Salem couldn’t fault them for, but it also made him cross-eyed with irritation at how their utter spinelessness got in the way of production and improvement. _This_ was why society was declining.

“And you?  Do all of you agree with Hillary?  Do you all think that this is impossible to achieve?  Are my goals to lofty?  Too extreme? Too sci-fi convention for the real world?  Am I going to have to wait until we find Pandora and start digging up Unobtainium before this is possible?”

Hillary ground her teeth together and pursed her lips, glaring at her coworkers as though that alone would compel them into any state beyond inaction. Rory—an Irish-American hire with bachelors from University of Chicago—balked for a moment, flailing between a furious Hillary and Salem’s cold expectation.

He cleared his throat nervously and shifted before hedging carefully. “I mean…it’s just…in theory…or, well, in _practice_ , I just don’t seem how this could work?”

“Are you asking _me_?” Salem shot back tonelessly, eyebrows raised.

“No,” Rory replied hastily.

Aidan sighed and adjusted his hipster retro glass on the bridge of his nose before finishing Rory’s well-intentioned if not well-spoken point.  “The math adds up.  This _should_ be possible, but then we need the material to make it work.  I mean, the programming is one thing.  It’s difficult but doable, but is material that would make this into a reality even currently…well…not to sound dramatic but…in existence?”

“Yeah,” Holly voiced, her thick Geordie accent distinguishable even from the very back of the group, “it looked really incredible when they used these in _Avatar_ , but this is the real world, not Hollywood.”

Salem nodded before retorting icily, “Yes, and this is Daiki Company not Apple.  I like progress.  I like out of this world.  I like innovative and unique and practical and different.  If you can’t think big, you can’t work here.  Nihal might have hired you, but now I’m vetting you, and I have no problems firing anyone who can’t keep up.”

A sharp rap came from the door, and Salem turned from the terrified, quaking developers to peer over his shoulder, eyebrows drawing together when he found Georgia standing in the doorway in a pair of leopard print Coach ankle boots—that Salem knew intimately she could not afford—and a coy smile on her red lips that didn’t bode well for anyone when paired with the lascivious look in her eye.

“What’s the word?” Salem called out at her, snapping her out of her reverie, though the smile never diminished.

“Regulus wants to know if ten tomorrow would be a good time to settle down and talk about operations for the upcoming week, but Harleen says it’s best that you schedule your meeting with her to talk about the end of this financial quarter and the start of the next fiscal year _first_ unless you just want to do a joint meeting. Dane wants to discuss the press release and conference about the upcoming releases…which you didn’t even tell me about, also do we get a discount on product—?”

“Georgia!” Salem interrupted pointedly.

“Sorry, right.  Harry Benton-Sterling called to confirm meeting in the conference room after the holiday…”

“Just ‘after the holiday?’” He asked archly.

“Umm…” Georgia colored and pulled her cellphone out of her cleavage via the nearly naval-length V in her silk blouse.  Holly crossed her eyes at Erica who giggled, shutting up quickly when she caught Salem’s bemused gaze locked on her.  “Right. The 28th. Two o’clock. Nihal also said he needs to go over some stuff with you about the Christmas party.”

“Some stuff?”

Georgia huffed and glared at Salem while the techs laughed quietly. She shot them a poisonous glare before turning her gaze to Salem.  “I’m sorry, is there a problem here?”

“Nope, no problem.  I can send text messages and ask people these questions individually I’m just wondering why I pay you, in that case.”

“I’m trying,” the whiny tone was grating, but Salem kept his mouth shut on her tone, retorting instead with:

“Try harder.  Did you remember to call Alexander Sullivan from Thompson & Hardwicke? Or tell Janine in finance about bolstering Reina Vasquez’s retainer since Sullivan took a percentage of it in November to pay legal fees?”

Georgia’s mouth fell open in surprise, and Salem rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I’ll do that—”

“No need.  It’s done.  I took care of it, but that’s what _I_ do. In any case, is there anything you ‘forgot’ to tell me since I know marketing and finance meetings wouldn’t put such a dumbass smile on your face.”

The techs lost it, devolving into laughter, and Georgia narrowed her eyes on Salem, pointing a lacquered fingernail at him before frostily tossing her blonde curls over her shoulder.  “Arthur Bailey’s here to see you.  He says it’s urgent.”

Salem stilled for a moment, his mind running through all the possibilities that Bailey would need him urgently enough to come to the offices instead of just waiting for Salem to come home.  His body reacted quicker, acting without thought and long before Salem even really processed what he was doing, hopping off of the desk and tossing the stress ball to Hillary who clearly needed it more than him.

“You should have started with that,” he informed Georgia without bite in his tone, a simple statement of fact, because of all the things he actually gave a shit about, Bailey ranked at the top, even over Charlie, something which would undoubtedly amuse his best friend to no end.  Georgia fumed, and Salem ignored her, grabbing the box he’d been sitting in front of and tossing it to Rory who seemed the most athletic of the assembled group.

Surprised but dexterous, Rory caught the box automatically, peering down at it in confusion for a moment before his eyes widened, and his gaze shifted up to meet Salem.  Salem, who only responded by smirking humorlessly and nodding.

“ _That_ ,” Salem pointed at the box, “is the next tablet we’re releasing _this week_ via a press conference that, apparently, Dane wants to talk to me about. Bluetooth enabled. Shatterproof.  Cordless.  Has solar power functionality.  Dual app usage on screen. And it takes pictures, movies, and can take a 360º photograph of what’s around you.  I mean, I don’t like to toot my own horn—” behind him Georgia snorted, and Salem decided to let her have that one “—it’s pretty fucking awesome.”

The silence in the room was deafening as almost a dozen pair of eyes swiveled from the blueprints and equations projected on the board to the device boxed up in Rory’s hand.  The realization washing over them one by one as they paled and looked up, wide-eyed, at Salem.

“It’s also what I’ve been trying to get you to replicate for the last week and a half that Hillary Moyer told me was impossible.” Hillary colored and ducked her head while Salem nodded.  “This was not a test, but if it was, you’d fail. Nihal likes to tell me that I should work _with_ you, that’s why we _hired_ you, but actually, that’s why _he_ hired you. I managed to figure this out by poking it and prodding it and piecing it together and taking it apart over and over and over again.  And, yes, it seemed like it would be impossible, evidently it wasn’t. It wasn’t fun and it wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t impossible either.

“You have thirty six hours to fill in the blanks and figure out how I made this work, and maybe, _maybe_ I’ll actually let you help with a project instead of chasing answers after the fact.  The bigger this company gets, the more I’ll need people to help me.  I can’t keep you if you can’t work with me, if you’re going to be chasing answers instead of solving puzzles. Like I said, this isn’t Apple.  We’re not remastering something we’ve already done.  We’re inventing something new.  From scratch.  That would make every Sci-Fi enthusiast _ever_ salivate. Prove that you can do this.”

“If we can, can we look at your laptop?”  Someone called out.

Salem barked out a laugh and shook his head as he turned to follow Georgia out of the room, “No.”

The door closed decisively behind him, not quite managing to stifle the excited chatter of the techs, and with a half-smile on his face, Salem drew up short when he realized Georgia had come to a stop to glare at him with unmitigated fury.

“You could stop being such an ass.”

“I don’t think that’s likely.

He edged around her, striding down the hallway and stopping to peek at Adrienne who sat behind her desk with a phone between her ear and shoulder while her fingers hurried over the keyboard of her computer.

Salem waited until she caught his eye before asking, “Where’s—”

Adrienne pointedly in the direction of his office, and he mouthed a thank you at her, turning to go when he heard, “Salem!” He paused and turned back towards her, raising his eyebrows.  “If you could just hold one moment please.”  She looked to him, her eyes alight with irritation and pointed at him.  “If Scarlett O’Hara isn’t going to do her job, then either fire her or handle it, because I’m a _receptionist_ not your personal assistant.  I shouldn’t be taking appointments for you.  I don’t really have time for it.”

Sighing, Salem nodded, “I’ll talk with her about it, but until we get it sorted, you can direct all those calls to me, yeah?”

“Thanks boss.”

“Uh-huh,” he hummed dismissively, hurrying down the hallway and shouldering open the door to his office.

Standing at the window overlooking Piccadilly Circus, Bailey hunched, one arm across his waist while the other nibbled anxiously on his fingernails. That sight alone would have been cause enough for Salem to worry, but his mussed hair, frazzled appearance, and bone-white face ratcheted worry all the way up to panic.  The last time Salem had seen Bailey like this had been in the midst of a gay sex tape scandal.  The last thing either of them needed was a resurgence of that in their lives.

“Bailey, what happened?”

Bailey startled, eyes wide and disoriented turned to lock on Salem with an expression that teetered on the edge of anxious and defeated. He moved, placing his coffee cup on the desk and reaching for Bailey.  He was met halfway, Bailey pitching himself into Salem’s arms with enough force to nearly knock both of them to the floor and embracing Salem tightly, burying his face into Salem’s neck.

Stunned, Salem ran a hand through Bailey’s hair and held onto him tightly for a moment before reacting, kicking the door shut behind him and maneuvering his best friend onto the couch and straddling him, both hands clenched in his hair as his fingers absently massaged Bailey’s scalp.

“Bailey, I need words.”

He huffed, his breath hot against Salem’s skin, and he shook his head tensing minutely with each shake.  “I…I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have…”

Tightening his hold on Bailey’s hair and tugging just enough to force a moan from Bailey’s lips, Salem shushed him with a smirk and a lingering peck. “You’re making me nervous, that’s all.  You can come visit me anytime you want.”

Bailey shook his head, lips pressed together in a tight line, and Salem pulled back to watch him without interruption.  “You’re busy.  I’m sure you have things to do.”

“Yep,” Salem nodded with a cheeky grin, “I have about half a dozen meeting with my senior execs. I’m teaching my little ducklings how to swim in the big kid pond.  And apparently I need to go over my statement for the press conference on the fourth financial quarter new production release in a couple days. Also, I mean for fuck’s sake, Reg is up my ass about opening another store.”

Ducking his head and hide his smirk, Salem pressed a kiss to the pulse point of Bailey’s throat, nipping lightly.  He could feel the tension that had settled into every hard line of Bailey’s body as if him showing up distressed, out of the blue would actually piss Salem off.  Some days Salem wondered if Bailey was the only person on Earth who didn’t know how completely he had Salem wrapped around his finger.

It honestly wouldn’t surprise him.

At all.

Bailey’s glaring insecurity was endearing, as it was troubling.

“But none of those things are more important than you. Besides, I hope the kiddies with degrees from Ivy League schools can handle poking and prodding at equations without me, and it’s not like I won’t hold business meeting at two am with everybody in their pajamas via Skype.” A slight smile started across Bailey’s lips as he snorted at that.  Salem hadn’t officially moved out of Craig’s but he might as well have.  He stayed at Bailey’s often enough to have commandeered a spare room and made it into a workshop and woken up Bailey in the middle of the night to Skype chat with his execs when he’d made a breakthrough…half the time with a nude Bailey sprawled in the bed beside him.

Dane, Regulus, and Harley had learned to laugh instead of commenting with any seriousness.

Trailing his hands gently from Bailey’s hair, Salem cupped his face and met Bailey’s timid gaze levelly.  “Talk to talk me, Arthur.”

Swallowing, Bailey gave a single terse nod, his whole body tensing against Salem and his eyes darting to the window as he worked up his nerve. Finally, he asked, “What do you know about my family?”

Considering how long they’d known each other, it was a fair enough question, but between Bailey being tight-lipped about them and his father’s ability to keep his personal life out of the press, Salem admitted carefully, “I’m not Caroline Bonfils so…not much?” Bailey’s gaze darted back to him with an unspoken question in their depths, and Salem sighed, “I’ve Googled you.  That’s really it.  And you don’t really say much about them.”

“No shit,” Bailey bit out bitterly.  Salem’s eyebrows in surprise, but he kept his mouth shut waiting for more. “My family is…well, they’re ridiculous aren’t they?  My father’s a member of Parliament in the Labour Party, and, well, he’s a bit of an arse if I’m being honest.  My brother, James, has deciding to go into politicking just like our father, so he’s _become_ an arse. And my sister is about to marry into UK-EPP so…” He shrugged with so much forced casualty, it looked painful, and Salem leaned forward, pressing into Bailey and kissing his forehead. Bailey sank into the hold with a muffled sob before biting the inside of his head and continuing, “I stay away from them for…a number of reasons.  It’s…my father’s not _homophobic_ , per say, but having a gay son was not a part of his plans.”

“Ah,” Salem remarked with a nod.

“Especially since I ‘ran away to play at football’ instead of going onto university and becoming a part of the political system.”

Salem made a face and cocked his head, “How much money do you make again?”

Biting his lip to keep from smiling, he shoved Salem’s shoulder.  “Stop it,” he muttered into his throat.  His smile dropped abruptly, “I…my mother emailed me.  She wants…I mean…she’s my _mother_ , you know?”

“Bailey,” Salem interrupted him, pulling away and once again cupping his face to meet his gaze, “all you had to do was ask.” Bailey met his eyes with something like hope and relief and more than a little bit of joy.  Salem couldn’t resist leaning forward to nip his bottom lip and tug lightly, darting away with a cheeky grin.  “Also maybe ply me with _Cinderella_ and a blowjob later.  Maybe.”

“At the same time?”

“No! What even?! Is _nothing_ sacred to you?”  Salem yelped with a smile, Bailey’s laugh lifting his mood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I felt like this chapter was totally owed to ya'll asap after I was literally like 'I'll post the next chapter later this week' and then abandoned you for four months while it sat in a draft folder on the archive. My bad. Anyway, yay me for planning ahead, apparently I wrote down an ordered, dated list of everything that happens from this point to the end of the novel. Also, this instalment is officially at the halfway point so whoo-hoo!
> 
> Anyway, I don't know when the next update will be but it will be soon like a normal person 'soon' not a 'three months from now when I get around to it' soon. I literally wrote this chapter in the last ten hours so hopefully I can get two or three done in the next couple days and edit the shit out of them (or try I'm terrible at editing my own work).
> 
> Thanks for everyone who's been so excited about this story :) and here's this chapter. Next chapter I'm introducing the Bailey clan :O


	31. "Merry Christmas (Kiss My Ass)" by All Time Low

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas with the Bailey clan

To: susannahwhytebailey@gmail.co.uk

Bcc: theghostsofsalem@gmail.com

From: kingarthurb@gmail.co.uk

Subject: RE: RSVP Christmas Dinner

Mother,

I’ve decided to it wouldn’t be completely horrid to see the family for Christmas. I will attend the Christmas Eve Family Fete with a friend.

Sincerely,

Arthur

 

**Text message to Bailey**

**Salem:** You have to RSVP to a FAMILY event? What even is your family

 **Bailey:** -.-

 **Salem:** You’re scarily formal with your family.

 **Bailey:** Is this conversation over?

 **Salem:** ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 **Bailey:** Omfg how did u find tht??????

 **Bailey:** c if i suk ur dick 2nite

 **Salem:** (￣。￣)～ｚｚｚ

 **Bailey:** stahp hangin wit teh kidtechs

 **Salem:** ╰(◡‿◡✿╰) 

 **Bailey:** srsly y am i evn attracted 2 u

 

To: theghostsofsalem@gmail.com

From: tashaandkostya@gmail.com

Subject: Christmas

No solnyshka,

I’m not upset about you sending Christmas with your friends this year. You’re certainly at an age where I’m not going to begrudge you having your own life. Also, now Damien and I are free to go visit Michi and Izumi in Japan like they’ve been asking.  Adventure time for me!

я люблю тебя.

**The Daiki Company (@TheDaikiCo.)**

Who’s ready for our company Christmas party? You all deserve it #doinggood #happyxmas #allthelove

 

**Carter Skeet (@SkeeterDJ)**

Great working with @TheDaikiCo. again and meeting @Salem_Daiki

 

**Text message to Bailey**

**Kanani:** Mele Kalikimaka! Try to have fun with the fam.

 **Kanani:** But if it doesn’t go well, Cat, Charlie, and Patty are here with liquor and a puppy :P

* * *

 

 _Who the hell has formal Christmas dinners?_ Was the primary thought swirling through Bailey’s head as he stepped out of the SUV and leaned against the vehicle to stare at the gorgeous brick Westminster mansion across the street from him.

‘Old money,’ he’d told Salem just the night before when he’d asked how his father had gotten into politics, ‘old money _always_ gets into politics.’

To be frank, Bailey doubted his father really had the skill set to do much more than tel the working class he’d never been apart of how they should be living.  In any case, James Arthur Bailey did it spectacularly well; he’d studied at Oxford, gotten involved with the Conservatives before switching, sometime after he’d met and married Bailey’s mother Susannah during a visit to the US in his mid-twenties, to the Labour Party.  His party constituents loved him.  The people loved him. Hell, his wife even loved him despite being undoubtedly aware of his numerous indiscretions during the course of his marriage.

Bailey stood alone in his dislike for the man.

“You gonna stand here and stare all day or are we going to go in?” Salem inquired with a smile, sidling up beside him and eyeing him patiently from beneath the curtain of dyed inky black bangs.

Without asking, Salem had toned himself down for Bailey’s family, even digging a perfectly tailored suit out of the depths of Bailey’s closet and commandeering it for the occasion.  Stripped bare of his usual color and piercings, Salem appeared alien, but when he took a step closer and pressed against Bailey, providing both warmth and support, Bailey shook off the feeling and look down at him.

“Who the hell has formal Christmas dinners?”  He blurted.

Salem pressed his lips together, not quite able to hide his smile. “Not me, but a few people. I went to one with Chaz’s family when we were dating.”  Bailey tossed him a disbelieving look, and Salem half-shrugged, “Okay, so it was _semi-formal_ , and Chaz’s mom ended up ordering Chinese when she accidentally set the roast on fire, but I still had were a blazer.”

Bailey snorted, feeling back on familiar ground, ridiculously grateful that Salem had agreed to go through this with him.  “Yeah, because a _blazer_ makes everything formal.”

“Was that sarcasm?  Are you being sarcastic?  Because I protest.”

Salem’s mobile beeped for about the twentieth time since they’d gotten into the car and made the nearly forty-five minute drive from Primrose Hill to Westminster. With a blasé attitude that set Bailey’s teeth on edge, Salem pulled out his phone and checked the text, huffing with quiet laughter and composing a reply before shutting off his phone and tucking it away in the inner jacket pocket.

He met Bailey’s eyes when he looked up, and a quick flash of what seem like guilt crossed his face before he bumped Bailey’s arm with his elbow and offered him a cheeky smile that Bailey didn’t reciprocate.

“Anyone I know?”  Bailey asked pointedly while Salem sighed and tugged Bailey across the street towards the house.

“Carter Skeet.”

“The DJ who can’t set up his own equipment?”

Regulus hadn’t been able to refrain from telling _everyone_ that story last time he’d gotten sloshed at a pub when the office had closed up.

Salem gave Bailey a bland look that he ignored.  “He’s gay?”

“Bisexual,” Salem ground out, evidently as uncomfortable with the topic as Bailey.

Bailey side-eyed him as Salem rang the bell.  “I thought you didn’t like that.”

“I _don’t_ , but it’s not like we’re dating.  Just talking. Two people can talk, can’t they?”

They could, absolutely, but Bailey knew Salem, knew that if he hadn’t mentioned that the DJ since they’d begun chitchatting that it was probably a bit more than just simply two acquaintances talking.  And it pissed Bailey off, even though it shouldn’t.

Before he could stick his foot in his mouth the door opened, and Katie had launched herself into Bailey’s arms with a piercing, joyful shriek.

His reflexes alone allowed him to catch his sister, though he remained tense and taut through the duration of her hug.

She pulled away with a wide smile.  “Look at you, Artie.  It’s been forever.”

“Hi, Katie.”  Bailey answered tersely, stepping away from her and closer to Salem who met him halfway, tapping his fingers on the bone of Bailey’s wrist.  Bailey cleared his throat.  “This is Salem Petrov.  Salem, this is my sister, Katherine.”

“Kate,” she smiled benignly at Salem, eyes darting between, “I go by Kate. It’s lovely to meet you. You’re that tech guy, aren’t you?”

Salem quirked an eyebrow.  “I might be.”

Katie’s expression shuttered at the retort, but before she could respond, a warm voice came from behind her, “Kate, you’re not keeping your brother all to yourself, are you?”

“Sorry, mum,” Katie spoke automatically, stepping back from the doorway to let them in.

Bailey eyed his sister as he moved his hand to Salem’s lower back and guiding him first.  He followed in behind him, stilling at the sight of his mother for the first time in years. He felt like a little kid about to be reprimanded despite the tear in her perfectly painted eyes and the slight tremble of her frosted lips.

Every one of the Bailey kids had taken after Susannah, which was certainly for the best as between her and her husband, she certainly held all the looks. Even into her fifties, Susannah Bailey’s hair was still long, thick, and raven black, twisted up into a chignon; her mocha skin flawless and shimmering, and her body slim and toned and perfectly accented in a fitted Chanel slip dress.  Susannah had always been perfect and beautiful and warm, yet she lacked two things: authenticity and genuine warmth.  She _looked_ the part of perfect wife and perfect mother, but Bailey couldn’t remember the last time she’d even so much as hugged her children.

She certainly didn’t then, tear-filled eyes moving from Bailey to Salem and chilling.

“Well, this isn’t you lady friend.”

Salem shot Bailey a look that had him rolling his eyes. “Mother, this is Salem Petrov.”

Susannah pursed her lips as her husband came up behind her. “The boy whose been causing so much trouble for my son,” James remarked coldly, his arm going around his wife’s waist.

Bailey clenched his jaw while Salem just smiled and half-shrugged, unconcerned by the tension in the air.  “Father,” Bailey greeted.

James Bailey looked every inch the politician even in his own home. Suit perfectly pressed, salt and pepper hair carefully tended, hazel eyes clear and sharp as they dart from Salem to Bailey.  “Arthur. How lovely of you and your…friend to grace us with your presence.”

He nearly flinched but shifted instead.  Uncomfortable by how his father had managed to turn ‘friend’ into a dirty word.  Salem still seemed utterly unmoved by the exchange, unfettered by the undertone of distaste in everyone’s voice.  Bailey was insulted and distressed for him.

Salem caught his eye as they made their way down the hallway to the formal dining room and gave him a half-smile, catching his hand and squeezing it reassuringly.  Bailey relaxed infinitesimally.

The formal dining room looked like they’d plucked it out of a catalogue, pristine and beautiful.  Even the warm golden light candles set in elaborate silver candelabras on the table set with the finest of the family china and the nod to the holiday festivities from the holly encircling the room couldn’t provide enough hominess to chase away the cold, soulless feel of the room.  It might had helped if the James and Rhiannon—seated in the holiday finest across from each other—had allowed their children to dine with the family instead of banishing them to the kids table in the kitchen with the cook and their nanny. But instead, the elaborate set-up seemed more like the set of a movie than a family home.

Bailey’s brother started to rise, his dark-hair, pale Irish-born wife with him even as she clutched a full glass of white wine in hand, before he stopped and froze, eyes moving between family members rapidly before settling on Salem as he sank back into his seat.  His eyes lacked the same distaste as the rest of the family but still held confusion. Bailey sighed.

A perfectly ordinary man at the far end of the table cleared his throat and rose.  He was of average height, tanned but still pale, with medium brown hair cut short but not severely so, and tucked into a beige suit that had Salem tossing Bailey a look that blatantly translated into ‘what the fuck?’  Bailey fought back as laugh as the man’s gaze locked on Salem with an awed expression.

“You’re Daiki Petrov-Kimura.”

Salem cocked his head and narrowed his eyes on the man while Katie frowned at him.  “You know this man, Tom?”

“He’s…I… _yeah_.  He’s the youngest CEO of a consumer electronics company with the highest gross revenue since Apple started _ages_ ago.”

Three heads swiveled around to stare Salem in astonishment while Bailey ducked his head, hiding a proud grin, and Salem smiled.  “Yeah, okay, that’s what Forbes said.  I think.  I don’t actually know; my CFO says things like ‘it’s good’ or ‘it’s not so good’ and we call it a day.”

That was a bold-faced lie.  Bailey had seen Salem at work, and ‘workaholic’ and ‘control freak’ didn’t even begin to cover it.  For someone so utterly laid back, Salem was a ruthless businessman who preferred to be involved with everything, much to the annoyance of his partners, Harley in particular. Bailey had more than once witnessed her screaming across the off at Salem for ‘digging into shit you don’t even remotely understand’ when he’d brought him coffee and settled in his office to flip through online cookbooks.

Salem micromanaged his company, but the comment made his family relax, exchanging long looks and eye rolls that seemed to go over the top of his head but didn’t quite judging by the pointed smirk Salem tossed Bailey’s way.

“Right, yes,” Bailey’s brother snapped his fingers, “come sit by me then, Daiki.”

“Salem,” he retorted, squeezing Bailey’s hand one last time before he went to the other side of the table and sat down.

Bailey slid into the chair across from him and shot his brother a sarcastic look. “Lovely to see you too, Jamie.”

Jamie laughed and half-shrugged.  “I’ve seen you around, Arturo.”  Bailey scowled, making Jamie laugh again while Salem quirked an eyebrow and mouthed, ‘Arturo’ at Bailey.  He stuck his tongue out at Salem as his parents sat, unbelievably relaxed in a house that had never felt entirely comfortable to him and entirely because of the man across from him.

Bailey stared at Salem for a moment, drinking in the sight of him as he graciously accepted a glass of wine from Katie’s Tom, fighting a scowl at the drink.

Maybe…

James cleared his throat as he settled at the head of the table, Susannah across from him smiling with the only look of sincere love Bailey had ever seen on her face.  Bailey granddad had once told his gran that their daughter’s love for “that bastard” had ruined her, and at the time Bailey had been too young and too naïve to know what that meant, but he looked from the dysfunction his parents relationship wrought to Salem who’d begun snagging grapes from the fruit bowl when he thought no one was looking, shooting Bailey a victorious smile when he realized he’d been caught out, and started to understand what his grandfather had meant.

“Yeah,” Bailey muttered to himself, eyes lingering on his best friend with a slight smile beginning to curve his lips, “maybe.”

“We’re here to celebrate our family,” James began, and Bailey sighed through his nose while Salem made a quizzical face, “and our family’s numerous accomplishments this year.”

Salem rolled his eyes, and Bailey brought his napkin to his mouth, hiding his laughter.

“Katherine’s retiring from competitive horseback riding to marry Tom.” Katie beamed at her fiancé while Salem balked and leaned forward.

“Is you sister the Olympic gold medalist for Grand Prix showjumping?”

Bailey coughed and smiled, nodding while Salem gaped, looking at his family’s proud expressions—barring Jamie’s bored countenance—with clear confusion. _Because Salem doesn’t live in the dark ages,_ Bailey thought to himself.

“James and Rhiannon are moving to Moscow to work in the British embassy.”

Salem’s eyebrows rose at that announcement, as surprised as Bailey, and he’d doubtless be more shocked when Bailey informed him it would mostly likely be for _Rhiannon’s_ work as opposed to Jamie’s as she was both the accomplished linguist and an activist with special interest in Slavic culture.

“Your mother and I,” James and Susannah met each other’s eyes across the table, “also have an announcement.”

Susannah shook her head and feigned a smile, “Now, darling, don’t you think that’s best discussed _after_ dinner.”

All three Bailey children swiveled their eyes to their mother with shock and confusion.

James held her gaze before dipping his head in acquiescence. “Shall we eat?” The table nodded slowly, silently cutting the roast and spooning corn, potatoes, and salads onto their plates. Bailey, sensitive to the tension, reached for his wineglass that Salem snatched out of his hand with a teasing smile as he downed the chardonnay and winked at Bailey who ducked his head to hide a smile.

“Salem, is it?”  James interrupted, drawing everyone’s attention.  Salem cocked his head and stared at James with a polite smile.  “Do you know much about politics?”

“Not really,” Salem shrugged while Bailey’s eyes widened. He kicked Salem’s shin under the table, and Salem’s smile widened.  “I’m not much interested in them.”

The whole table stilled and quieted, and James set his wineglass down decisively.  “Not much interested in them?  You’re a businessman. You ought to be.”

“I really prefer to let old men play their power games while I deal with what I can control.  At the end of the day, it’s a four year regime in the US and—what?—four or five here, then it’s onto the next.  My business is until I sell or am bought out or fail.  Governments are the problem, aren’t they?  They start foreign wars and cause domestic issues about as often as they solve them.”

“Are you an anarchist?”  Katie spat, aghast.

Salem shrugged, “I’m a capitalist.  Anything beyond that is outside my purview.  I’m here for the economy.  Anything else can really suck—”

Bailey kicked him.  Hard. And he flinched before wincing as he realized what was about to come out of his mouth.  “Sorry,” Salem murmured while Jamie devolved into laughter, shooting at look to Rhiannon who seemed more bemused than anything.

“That’s fallacious logic,” Tom forced out stiffly.

Salem’s gaze swung towards him, studying him for a moment before smiling. “How so?  I’m not a total idiot.  I recognize the necessity of government…to a point, but really they just create more problems.”

“What about immigration?  What about taxes?  What about infrastructure? Schools?  Hospitals?  Libraries?”

“You’re UK-EPP, so, let’s just dive right into immigration. Personally, my business philosophy is that to work here show valid identification that you are where you belong. That said, I’m a computer, I’m just diligent like that.  However, this is a half-native American family.  Surely, you’re aware that borders really haven’t served anyone positively _ever_ , and it was the Europeans that really started that ‘border security’ thing, right? I mean look at the Caucasus region that got redefined when they were taken over by the USSR. They’re nothing but trouble. Let the people deal with it. That’s all I’m saying.”

Jamie was laughing so hard he could hardly breathe while Rhiannon seemed bemused, agreeable, and perplexed.  Bailey shook his head at Salem who seemed to be enjoying stirring up drama. They’d never talked much about politics. They both were up-to-date but rarely participated and therefore only brought it up to talk in theoretical.

James’s glare turned to Bailey who stiffened under it just as he had as a child. “You brought an _anarchist_ into this home, Bailey?  Why do you do this?  It’s bad enough you’re flaunting you’re…predilection in front of us.”

Salem glowered at James, angered on Bailey’s behalf, and Bailey took a breath and turned to his father with a confidence he hadn’t ever possessed in the man’s presence before.  “I’m gay not _diseased_.” Salem grinned.

Katie huffed and shook her head while Jamie offered Bailey a slight smile of approval that he hadn’t received from his brother since before he’d gotten involved in politics.  Susannah pasted on a bland smile.  “What ever happened to that lovely girl you were seeing?  The model?”

“Kanani,” Katie supplied helpfully.

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Rhiannon snapped while Jamie gripped her hand tightly over the table.

Bailey nodded and glanced at Salem, calm and secure in the midst of his family’s dramatics. “Well, mother, we both stopped pretending, and she got a girlfriend.”

Susannah’s mouth dropped open, her eyes darting to James who snapped angrily, “Arthur Bailey!”  He wilted under the tone slightly, eyes cast downward automatically.  He studied the pattern in the china, not look up until he felt an ankle hook around his.  His eyes found Salem’s, wordlessly asking if he was okay, and he tossed Salem a watery smile. “God forbid you curb yourself to spare your mother’s heart.”

“I think that’s _all_ I’ve _been_ doing actually. ‘Sparing mother’ the embarrassment of having her son be gay, but,” Bailey hesitated, looking away from Salem to study his father defiantly, “it’s not about you.  _This_ isn’t about you.”

“Of course not!”  Susannah hissed at Bailey who flinched and sank back into his chair.  “It’s always been about you.  You and your football.  You and your _friends_.  Your father and his career.  You brother and his _activism_. Your sister and her extracurriculars. But this time it’s _going_ to be about me.  You could do me the favor of not flaunting your _habits_ until I’m six feet under.  God knows it won’t be that long a wait.”

The whole table fell still and silent as they looked to Susannah who collapsed in her chair with a sigh, running a manicured hand over her hair, careful not to muss it.

“What are you talking about, mum?”  Bailey asked hesitantly.

“I’m dying, Arthur dear,” Susannah remarked with feigned composure.

Eyes turned to James who swallowed down his wine and cleared his throat, eyes surprisingly watery as he gave a single stiff nod.  “Your mother’s GP has found she has stage four pancreatic cancer.”

“Happy Christmas,” Susannah remarked with shocking bitterness, raising her wine and chugging it.

“Bailey,” Salem said cautiously barely a second before he’d leapt from the chair and sprinted to the toilet to vomit.

He came to crying in Salem’s arms, both of them sitting on the tiled floor of his parent’s bathroom, broken.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! The chapter way earlier than I know everyone was expecting. I literally wrote this in the park under an ominous grey cloud that, bless, waited to produce rain until I sat safely in my flat.
> 
> But I am going to try to post Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays (that's the plan, fingers crossed). I've revised my plan for this story. I know what's going to happen and when and I'm ready to go and have my (creative) juices flowing. I'm determined to finish this...mostly because I have a plan to turn this into like a whole series based around this universe I've created and have like a long term plan for this whole, yeah, no it's good.
> 
> Also, if Tumblr is to be believed (and take that with a grain of salt) apparently it's not totally out of left field for people to not want to date bisexuals. I've heard it's really common. I mean, Salem's the way he is for a reason, and I could, in theory, understand why people wouldn't want to date bisexuals because they're bisexuals, but this is my disclaimer. I love you bisexuals. I mean, I'm pretty sure I'm asexual, but I am, at the very least panromantic so I'm not totally disregarding that whole sexuality. Like I said I have plans.


	32. "Young Blood" by Bea Miller

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie and Salem had a heart-to-heart

**A rekindled romance for New Years?**

It’s been nearly a year since model, Kanani Kapuana, and Arsenal forward, Arthur Bailey, publically separated, and since then the former couple have only rarely been pictured with other people.  It’s possible that our generation’s Posh and Becks maybe back! The pair was pictured together at Arsenal captain’s, Bakar Bengochea, annual New Year’s Eve bash alongside their respective best friends, tech mogul, Daiki Kimura-Petrov, and photographer, Catriona Buchanan. A rep from Kapuana said, “[Kapuana and Bailey] are still very close, especially as they have a lot of mutual friends. Neither of them are looking for a relationship.”  We’ve heard that before, though, and are absolutely team Artnani getting back together!

**Text message to Carter**

**Carter:** So if I asked you out what would you see?

**Carter:** Theoretically.

**Salem:** Theoretically, I might not like games like this.

**Salem:** Theoretically, this might be a little bit ridiculous

**Salem:** Theoretically, I’m dealing with a lot right now.

**Carter:** Not like we’d be getting married. Just some fun

**Salem:** I shit you not it’s pretty crazy for me right now

**Carter:** Come on. 1 date. You won’t regret it.

**Salem:** One date?

**Carter:** 1

 

**Kanani Kapuana (@Kanani_Pahala)**

Lolololololololol @ArthurBailey @Kitty_Catriona @Salem_Daiki #somanyproblems #whateven

 

**Benedikt Roland to return to Arsenal?**

Benedikt Roland, the powerful Chesea midfielder, is rumoured to be returning to his original club.  The German-born midfielder began his professional career with Arsenal before being transferred to Chelsea when Mexican-born forward, Jorge Maldonado, signed with the club.  The rumours began when the evident tension between forward, Arthur Bailey, and midfielder, Rafael Correa, reached a fever pitch during Sunday’s match against Aston Villa when the pair publicly argued on the sidelines when Bailey refused to pass to an open Correa earlier in the game. Whatever the tension between the pair, certainly none of Arsenal’s fans would be upset to see Roland return, but what that might mean for Bailey and Correa is certainly worrisome.

 

**Charles Beck (@CharlieBeck)**

@Salem_Daiki froyo?

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

@CharlieBeck I’m sorry did you forget how to use a cell phone?

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

@CharlieBeck also, yes, but maybe just ice cream? London doesn’t do froyo well

* * *

“I feel like it’s been ages since I’ve seen you,” Charlie said, sliding into the booth directly beside Salem with a broad grin.

Salem rolled his eyes and smiled, “That’s because it _has_ been Chazzercise.”

“Fuck off,” Charlie scowled, slipping around the table to sit across from him, beaming up at the server as she reached them and leaving the girl dazed and weak-kneed.  “How are you, love?”

“I…uh…hi.” She squeaked out, clutching her pad to her chest, eyes comically wide.  “You’re Charlie Beck.  I absolutely adore your work.”

“I think she means your ass,” Salem added.

The girl blushed while Charlie shrugged, giving Salem a cheeky smile. “It _is_ a pretty fabulous arse.”  Salem rolled his eyes but didn’t disagree.  The attraction between them had long since fizzled out, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate his best friend’s assets.  Charlie’s smile said he knew _exactly_ what Salem was thinking as he turned back to the girl. “Shall we just order then? I’m sure you’re very busy. Right, I’ll have a dulche de leche espresso and some water too please, sparkling, if you have it. He’ll have a cappuccino as he’s boring, trust me I know.”

“Fuck you too,” Salem remarked, and Charlie shrugged with a smirk.

“And let me have a banana caramel crepe, _s’il vous plait_.  Boring’ll have Brownie Explosion, yeah?”

“I…yes…I…right,” she whispered, spinning on her heel and hurrying away while Charlie chuckled, glancing over to Salem.

“What if I didn’t want brownies today?”

“Then I would have order your caramel praline crunch.”

“That’s what _you_ like,” Salem remarked while Charlie nodded sagely.  “You know there’s a starstruck teenaged girl taking your picture with her phone right now. It’ll be all over social media in five minutes.”

Charlie shrugged, “You say that like I’m good at subtle. I mean, I’m not Cris Emerson, but I’ve been famous a minute.  It’s not a huge deal, and if it was then I would have brought Ben & Jerry’s over to your love nest and crashed out on the couch with you while we watched a film I wasn’t in. Did I tell you I started _The Penny Dreadfuls_?  It’s surprisingly delightful.”

Salem just stared at his best friend a moment across the table.

Their impromptu meet-up had found itself in Chinatown at the Haagen Dazs restaurant right across from Leicester Square and the Odeon Cinema where Charlie had been to over a dozen movie premieres.  They’d also stopped for dumplings and pork fried rice on the way because that was the kind of friendship they had.  In any case, it couldn’t come at a better or a worse time.

On the one hand, Salem definitely needed to unload after spending entirely too much time with Bailey’s family in the wake of his mother’s dramatic Christmas dinner reveal— _who even did shit like that?_ —but on the other hand there were things he didn’t need or want Chaz digging into.

“How’s filming been?”  Salem asked as the server set their drinks down on the table and skittered off without another word.

Charlie’s palm smacked against the table as he huffed.  “I don’t even…how can…God save Patty.  Jesus Christ I’m gonna kill…I just…I used to enjoy shooting for the show, you know?  But now, it’s like ‘I’m gonna rip your throat out with my teeth’ which probably isn’t helped by us living together.  I don’t know, it’s…” Charlie tapered off with a shrug and a self-deprecating smile. “But shooting _The Painted Man_ was fun.  I’ve never really forayed much into fantasy.”

“You play a faerie assassin on television,” Salem remarked dryly.

“ _High_ fantasy, Salem, stay with me!”

“I apologize my genre-knowledge isn’t up-to-snuff, Your Majesty.”

Charlie tossed him a sarcastic look.  “I got to run around New Zealand.  And Phoenix.  And we shot some stuff up in Krakow and Gdansk, which was fucking freezing.  I don’t know.  Maybe I should focus more on movies.”  Salem nodded, wincing when his phone chimed.  Charlie eyed him carefully before continuing on as if he hadn’t heard it. “How’s Bailey handling his mum’s slow decline into death?”

“Morbid.” Salem nodded, “He’s not taking it _well_ , but he’s not taking it badly either.  I really think it’s more that he’s absolutely at his wits end with his family. And, to be frank, so am I.”

“Homophobes?”

“Politicians.”

Charlie winced and nodded.  “I see. I can’t believe he took you to Christmas dinner.  His mother, though…” Charlie trailed off for moment, seeming to think something over before he confessed, “That makes a lot of sense.”

“His mother?”

“Why he’s so…” Charlie waved a hand, and Salem’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “With your relationship, you know?”

“No.” Salem replied.

Charlie grimaced before snapping his fingers together excitedly. “It’s a bit like Elton John, yeah? Who really, let’s face it, got married to his ex-wife to make his mother happy, because the moment that woman croaked, wifey-poo was out the door, yeah?”

Salem narrowed his eyes, unsure but entirely unwilling to disagree with Charlie. “Okay…” he started hesitantly. Let’s say I agree with you.” Salem’s phone chimed thrice in succession, each time accompanied with a wince, and an irritatingly knowing nod from Charlie.  “Does that mean I have to wait for his sister and father croak too?”  Salem paused and winced again as the server paused in setting down their ice cream to stare wide-eyed at him.  She dropped their ice creams and scurried away, obviously unsettled. “That sounds very crass, thanks for that.”

“Welcome,” Charlie laughed before abruptly sobering.  “Doubtful.  Mothers are not fathers, and children don’t generally hold them in the same esteem.”

“His mother’s a total ice queen bitch.”

Charlie shrugged, “Still his mother regardless.  And anyway, if he makes you wait until retirement and the pair of you continue with the melodrama, I might actually kill him. I can’t handle another twenty years of this.”

Salem raised his eyebrows and laughed, pointing a finger at Charlie. “And now you know how I feel, douche.”

He narrowed his eyes at Salem, brandishing the spun of his ice cream like a weapon while Salem pressed his lips together to duck a smile. “Not _that_ nonsense again.  Firstly, Patty is straight.”

“Right,” Salem scoffed.

“And _second_ ,” Charlie spoke over him, “we’re not talking about me.”

“Oh okay, is that because you’re also aware that if Patrick ‘wasn’t straight’ you’d climb him like a tree.”

“I smell sarcasm,” he sing-songed.

Salem’s phone chimed again.

“Okay, for real, who the hell are you ‘chit-chatting’ with?” The tone of his question had Salem’s hackles raised and his mouth dropping open in preparation for argument that Charlie cut off before he’d even begun.  “Don’t. I _know_ you.  I _dated_ you.  I know how you operate, Salem.”

The stared at each other for a moment, Charlie smug and Salem annoyed, before he asked, “So Bailey told you?”

“Yes, of course,” Charlie nodded.  “You don’t date bisexuals.  That’s like your number one rule, and it has been since Georgia.”

“Georgia’s not bisexual.”

“No, Georgia’s a total bitch.  She was _before_ she transitioned. She was _after_ she transitioned.  She was then, and is now, because while she was deciding whether or not to flip-flop her gender, she was flip-flopping her sexuality _while you were dating._ ”

“Did my mother tell you that?”  Salem deadpanned.

“Georgia fucked you up, and you didn’t even have sex.”

“Once.” Charlie frowned, and Salem continued. “Once, we had sex once. After graduation, right before her hormones and everything when I wasn’t technically ‘in my mother’s house’. Don’t tell my mom that,” Salem warned.

Charlie held his hands up innocently before leaning forward and asking, “What are you doing, Sale?  You don’t date bisexuals, except Carter Skeet who wants to be the next Calvin Harris or Avicii or David Guetta so he’s not coming out in the next hundred years, and even Cris and Irial agrees with me on that.  You told Bailey you weren’t going to date this guy, but I don’t believe you, because Patty told me he’d seen the pair of you doing lunches in Camden half a dozen times this month.  Are you still sleeping with Bailey?  And are you sleeping with Carter? And please tell me the answer is no to both or I’ll be so disappointed in you.”

“I…” Salem hesitated.  “I fucking love Bailey so much, it’s ridiculous.”

“I know,” Charlie said gently.

“I’d do what Iri’s doing for Cris.  I’d keep my mouth shut and our relationship exist in the closet to have keep him. I mean, fuck, we’re practically dating. We all but officially live together, and do grossly domestic bullshit like chores and laundry and grocery shopping together. We’re taking a cooking class. I got him fucking flamenco lessons for his birthday because I’m a sap.  But he won’t…he just doesn’t…I don’t know how to do this. And Carter’s everything I don’t want. He’s young and brash and up-and-coming, in the closet, bisexual—”

“I know Georgia fucked you up, but the biphobia’s gotta go.”

“I can stop talking any time.”

Charlie looked chastised, “Sorry, shutting up.”

“He’s easy.  Being with Carter is easy. I know what I’m up against. I know where I stand. I know what’s going on and what isn’t.”

“Salem,” Charlie groaned.

He shrugged and continued, “We’re not sleeping together. I can’t sleep with Carter and then go back home to make some disgustingly healthy dinner with Bailey that he saw while obsessively watching the cooking channel and sharing his bed. I can’t, but I haven’t been sleeping with Bailey, and he isn’t asking.”

“That’s because Bailey’s not a moron.”

“We both have a lot going on.”

“Stop talking,” Charlie snapped, shaking his head.  “This is not going away.  It’s not going to get better if you pretend it doesn’t exist. You two could actually have this conversation, you know?  I don’t know why this is so hard for you! It’s not like you haven’t done it before.”

“Relationship defined?” Salem snapped.

“Been in love,” Charlie retorted coldly, leaning forward across the table, “and dealt with what that means.  You can’t date your way out of being in love with him.  You know better than that.  It’s not like you’re new to relationships.”

Salem sat back and ate a spoonful of ice cream as he leaned back in the booth, eyes focused on Charlie with an intensity that bordered on threatening.

Completely unaffected with his best friend’s glower, Charlie popped a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth with one hand and snapped a picture of Salem with the other.  He dove back into his crepe and ice cream while dexterously composing a one-handed tweet with a wry, smug grin and an air of utter unconcern for Salem’s emotional wellbeing.

His phone chimed at the tweet, and he glanced down at the screen and sighed. This was the man he’d chosen as his best friend.  This complete and utter asshole.  Who would have known that a gorgeous face, perfect ass, and an intoxicating amount of lust would have brought his life to this?

> **Charles Beck (@CharlieBeck)**
> 
> That face you get when you get slapped in the face with a truth-bomb @Salem_Daiki

“Could you not tweet our issues for the whole world to see. I think this is why we broke up.”

“No,” Charlie intoned, “we broke up because we’re entirely too similar for attraction to have weathered the test of time.  Originally, I thought it was because of our long distance thing or that we were just destined to be friends, obviously, but I think Bailey has proved that’s just not the case.  Because neither of those things are problematic to you if you want it bad enough.”

Salem studied Charlie who hid his sadness and eccentricity and emotional dissonance behind a charming, boyish veneer before he said, “I was in love with you.

“No, you loved me.  You _love_ me, but you were never _in_ love with me.  To be fair, it wasn’t really your fault.  You were too broken to be capable of that kind of love with anybody, but we sure as hell got close.”  Charlie leaned forward and smiled sadly.  “And I loved you— _love_ you—but I wanted magic and passion and a heart-stopping, life-changing, immediate love. We had a lot of infatuation and maybe an excess of lust, but we didn’t have that.”

“You had that with Patrick,” Salem said.

“ _You_ had that with _Bailey_.”

“No, Bailey and I…were in lust with each other.”

“You and Bailey holed up in his hotel room after he won gold at the Olympics for _days_ to marathon sex, order pizza, and watch crappy reality tv.  Like I said earlier, I dated you.  That’s love.” Salem shook his head, and Charlie sighed.  “What do you think love is? Because I’m going to be really honest with you, it’s not one dimensional or singularly expressed or identical to another.  It’s not one-sided,” Charlie smiled sadly, and Salem bit his tongue to keep from interrupting. He shook his melancholy as he took another bite of his crepe.

Salem sat silently for a moment, munching on his ice cream while Charlie alternated between watching him puzzle his life out and waving exaggeratedly to the people trying not to stare and whisper as they snuck pictures at the surrounding booth. By the time he’d finished his cappuccino, he’d managed to piece together enough of himself to look Charlie in the eye and admit heavily: “I need Carter right now.  I need uncomplicated.”

Charlie nodded.  “That’s okay.” Salem scowled, and Charlie laughed at him.  “Look, you and Bailey need to work your shit out, and I love both of you and want you both happy which is the only reason we even have these little talks.  I just want you to get it together before you lose each other because God knows I cannot handle fielding calls from your business partners about your moping while I’m off shooting Guatemala.”

“Shut up, you were not in Guatemala asshole.  And what kind of bourgeoisie bullshit is it that you have service over there anyway?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there we are. I'm ridiculously happy with this chapter, mostly because I really love Salem and Charlie's relationship. I know people were asking about Charlie and Salem's relationship, so here's a little bit more information (lol I already had this chapter written when I got that message) but I probably won't go any deeper into their relationship beside these little chats because I do want to write a book about Charlie so his history would more than likely addressed then. I did just write about how they met in a recent chapter.
> 
> Anyway, big changes are coming. I'm just about to write chapter 37 and that's kind of the start of a major shift, though there are pretty small but definite changes that happen from this point forward.
> 
> Now, I'm going to write chapter 37 while I have a mental breakdown about my class schedule and why I'm completely missing my journalism module. On the plus side I have wifi in my flat now so I can update from home instead of random coffee shops and the university library


	33. "Waiting For Love" by Avicii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentine's Day with introspection

**RT by @Salem_Daiki**

**Carter Skeet (@SkeeterDJ)**

Shhh don’t tell but I miiiiiight be working on a collab with @AniTiernan

 

To: theghostsofsalem@gmail.com

From: crabbysebas0922@gmail.com.fr

Subject: RE: I NEED YOU

First of all, darling, the subject line tag is very questionable. Second, okay, yes, you’re right I know a guy, of course I do I’m insulted you even had to ask. And dénouement, oui, I’ve personally gone in and he’s agreed to book you in.

You’re very welcome, Konstantin!!!!!

P.S. Max says hi and you’re very worked up so I shouldn’t bait. Why is he so damn practical????

 

**Britain’s Bailey family to take on cancer**

Prime Minister hopeful and longtime Labour Party leader, James Bailey, announced in a press statement just over the weekend that his wife and society darling, Susannah Whyte Bailey, has been diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. “My family is no stranger to tragedy,” Arthur Bailey MP spoke, undoubtedly referencing the car accident that took his late parents, “but we’ve come together for Susannah and with our community to stand against a disease that takes millions of lives worldwide daily.” Indeed the prominent family has seemed to come together in the midst of diagnoses. Ambassador’s aide, James Bailey II, and civil rights activist wife, Rhiannon Bailey, have moved to Moscow regardless. “Both of his parents urged him not to stop his life and do what he’s passionate about and serve his country, it’s what they raised him to do,” a representative expressed when contact. Only daughter, Katherine Bailey, 2016 horseback riding Olympic gold medalist has moved to Westminster and announced her engagement to UK-EPP MP, Tom Gehrig, saying, “I want to be close to her in this difficult time. I can’t imagine not being but she’s told me—told _us_ —not to get too focused. She wants us, I think, to weather what’s coming as best we can.” Youngest son and Arsenal star footballer, Arthur Bailey, wasn’t available for comment, but if his playing’s anything to go by, he’s managing his mother’s illness with aplomb, putting up points and becoming an even more brilliant playmaker with each game. “Arthur’s struggling the most, but he’s channeling it as best he can. He’s got a strong support system helping him as well,” a close friend of the Bailey family commented. It certainly seems so between his teammates, his close friendship with tech mogul, Daiki Kimura-Petrov, and a rekindling connection with his ex-girlfriend and model, Kanani Kapuana.

 

**Text message to Salem**

**Bailey:** absolut! Wankers! Teh! Lot! O! Em!

 **Salem:** Have you been drinking? I thought you were supposed to be playing!

 **Bailey:** U red pprs?????

 **Salem:** If you fuck up your game tomorrow cuz you’re drinking they’ll just write an article about it.

 **Bailey:** Fucking hell is my life? Woo mkes cancer tabloid fodder?

 **Bailey:** Fucking hell my fam

**Text message to Salem**

**Carter:** Your kidding rite?

 **Carter:** This is a joke.

 **Salem:** Oh YOU were serious? It’s only been a month

 **Carter:** It’s Valentines Day.

 **Salem:** I’ve got plans?

* * *

Bailey startled awake half from being jostled in midst of peaceful sleep he really rather wished hadn’t been interrupted and half from Salem shouting, “Wake up, Arthur!” as he dashed into the bathroom, already half dressed and irritatingly cheerful.

Groaning, he covered his face with a pillow and tried to fall back to sleep, stiffening when he felt a weight settle against his side.  He was warm and comfortable and absolutely did not want to get up. Even still, Bailey let Salem pull the pillow from his face and pouted up at him through his lengthening mop of hair. Salem grinned at him and poked his nose with his index finger, laughing when he scrunched up his face.

“What could you possibly want at this ungodly hour, Konstantin?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day.”

Bailey sighed exaggeratedly and waved a dismissive hand in Salem’s direction, huffing when he caught the hand and drew it to his chest, humming thoughtfully as he interlaced their fingers against his bare chest with a dopey smile.  _Fucking sap,_ Bailey thought to himself fondly, lips curving up into a smile before he caught the unintended expression and quickly stifled it.  It wouldn’t do for Salem to think he was _okay_ with being awoken when all he wanted to do was sleep. He who woke every day at the crack of dawn without fail.

“Hail February 14th. Can I go back to bed now or is this you getting me back for all those mornings I woke us up for exercise?”

“I wouldn’t put it passed me,” Salem hummed cheerfully before leaning over Bailey to press a wet smacking kiss to his forehead.  With an annoyed groan, Bailey weakly pushed up against his chest while Salem laughed. “It’s only nine, and it’s time to get moving, Arthur.”

“Just because _you_ have a date with your _boyfriend_ does not mean that _I_ have to get up to amuse you, Konstantin.”

And if Salem hadn’t been practically on top of him and entirely entwined, he would have winced.

He sounded bitter. Bitter and angry and, well, scorned, which wasn’t fair as he hadn’t been, not really.

He wasn’t Salem’s boyfriend.

That, of course, being the issue of the year that just kept coming back to the forefront, because the could live on top of each other and share space and food and clothes and a bed but they weren’t a _them_.

Bailey might have established the rule, but fuck if he was happy with it.

Happy enough when he and Salem played house and built a life with as much stability as playing cards one breeze away from collapse, but Salem had warned him from the beginning that casual wasn’t in his nature.  Despite a general appearance that suggested otherwise, Salem embodied serial monogamist.  As far as Bailey knew, Salem had devoted most of his high school years to courting Georgia and then had gone almost immediately into a relationship with Charlie and spent the remaining time in brief but intense and committed relationships up until they’d started sleeping together almost two years ago.

And wasn’t that mind blowing?

Two years Bailey had spent playing house with the best friend he was desperately in love, sexually monogamous but officially unofficial.

It was shit, and it had been a shit plan from day one as playing with fire oft was.

To top it off, just when Bailey finally felt steady enough to _try_ , Carter Skeet had come along with his custom-made soundboard and chavvy snapbacks for basketball teams in America he’d never even heard of. Arrogant, narcissistic, and disgustingly charming.  Bisexual. Closeted.

He felt like Caroline Bonfils.

Bailey might not have had him background checked, but fuck if he wasn’t above calling Salem’s business partners to pump them for information.

That Carter was a minor celebrity and closeted had been what prompted the surging wave of bitterness. _Uncalled for regardless,_ Bailey told himself, _because_ you _set these terms, shit as they are._

“Carter’s not my boyfriend,” Salem remarked cheekily, getting up from the bed and reaching into a draw to pull onto one of Bailey’s old school shirts.

 _But you’re sleeping with him,_ Bailey _wanted_ to spit out of pure unadulterated envy.  It wasn’t true though, because Salem wouldn’t have slept half-naked and spooned up against Bailey every night if that had been the case. The problem was that any time Salem spent intimately with anyone beside himself was enough to churn his stomach and turn him into an absolute bitch.

“And you and I have plans.”

 _That_ got Bailey’s attention, and he sat up abruptly.  “ _We_ have Valentine’s plans?  Are you serious?”

Salem scowled, tossing a pair of jeans and a Henley at Bailey’s head.  “Are you and Carter exchanging notes?  Yes, I’m serious.  He’s seriously not my boyfriend.  We’re seeing each other, not dating.  And we’re…” Salem trailed off and blanched, mortified, while Bailey’s heart lifted, a soft smile spreading across his lips.

“I don’t have practice today?” Bailey offered him an out.

Salem cleared his throat and nodded, “Of course not.  I checked.”

“You _checked_ or you ‘checked’?”

“Fuck off, I called Caroline.”

Bailey pushed back the covers and eyed Salem as he disappeared into the bathroom.  “So this is serious then?”  Salem scoffed aloud, and Bailey looked down at the clothes in his hand with a scowl, “You couldn’t have thrown a cashmere sweater at my head?”

Salem poked his head out of the bathroom with a mischievous grin.  “You won’t want to wear your posh clothes where we’re going.”

 

“If you cannot behave with that fucking flour, I will kick you out of the building, Konstantin.”  Bailey hip-checked Salem out of the way as he reached for the olive oil with a delighted grin that hadn’t left his face since they’d pulled into the parking lot behind _Chez Moreaux_ just before twelve after spending a two hour drive from London to Paris obnoxiously listening to the soundtrack from Pitch Perfect while mainlining vanilla Coke, Bailey complaining about the calorie count the whole way.

It was unbelievably rare to see Bailey in such an unrestrained state of lighthearted contentedness, and Salem felt blessed to the just stand back and bask in the boyish excitement Bailey radiated as he listened to renowned pastry chef, Joseph Lyon, and the restaurant’s head chef—and coincidentally Caroline Bonfil’s high school boyfriend—Hugh Moreaux argue back and forth on the merits of proper seasoning when if comes to healthy eating, completely and inexorably engrossed in the conversation.

Beaming, Bailey leaned against Salem’s side; eyes following the quick, precise movement as the pair of chefs expertly chopped Bailey’s vegetables for him, an unspoken competition of skills between the pair of them.

“How did you even manage this?”

Salem smiled coyly, “I know a guy.”

Bailey’s gaze shifted from the chefs to Salem with doubt.  “So you bribed Sebastian.”

With a decisive nod and a smirk, Salem nodded and admitted, “I might have bribed Sebastian, but to be fair, it took a pre-release of the upcoming cell phone prototype _and_ season tickets to Disneyland Paris for him _and_ Max to make this happen when I could have just gone over his head and asked Caroline.”

“Did I say anything?” Bailey raised his hands in a shallow gesture of innocence as his lips curved into a wicked smile.

Salem flicked flour at him, freezing when the white powder hit his face and hair, hands flying up to cover his mouth as he bit back laughter.  Bailey’s eyes opened slowly, and he blinked repeatedly, eyes narrowing on Salem in an irritated glare.  Salem devolved into full on laughter.

“Like Caroline would help _you_ anyway after you committed a felony in front of her.”

“Pics or it didn’t happen!” Salem shot back.

Bailey crooked an eyebrow and pursed his lips as he looked back towards the chefs, his expression saying more about _that_ than words ever could. And despite the sardonic look, the relief and gratefulness that he never failed to demonstrate whenever that particular issue was brought up.

Lips quirking, Salem leaned in to press a kiss to Bailey’s temple, pinching his side and dancing out of reach when Bailey swatted at him.

He swiped a wooden spoon out of the mixing bowl and pointed it at Bailey threateningly, pausing to watch the glob of gooey dough drip in a single slow-motioned droplet from the spoon and drop back into the mixing bowl with a loud audible plop. Bailey’s eyebrows drew together in a too serious frown, lips curving up slightly as he looked back to Salem who tossed the spoon back into the bowl swiftly, twining his hands behind his back like a young schoolboy and smiling beatifically at Bailey.

He rolled his eyes.

“Watch yourself, Arthur, or I’ll add another teaspoon of baking soda to your little sauce there.”

“Fuck off, Salem. You know better. You value your life far too much to risk certain death if you fuck up my sauce.”  The words were tossed out offhandedly as Bailey went back to stirring, tossing fresh, chopped garlic into the hissing pan without sparing Salem a glance.

The two chefs shared a look and glanced between the pair of them, wide-eyed, but Salem’s only reaction was to bite his lip and grin boyishly, rocking back on his heels with his hands still clenched behind his back.

Rising on his tiptoes and peering over Bailey’s shoulder, Salem bit the inside of his cheek. “Are you sure it doesn’t need more baking soda?”

“It shouldn’t _have_ any baking soda,” Hugh hedged carefully.

“It doesn’t,” Salem promised in tandem with Bailey’s simultaneously dismissive tone.

Hugh looked perplexed but nodded as Joseph smothered laughter.  He tossed something out to Hugh in rapid-fire French that had his mouth dropping open, head whipping around to respond in pure shock.

Salem blinked at them before stepping closer to Bailey.  “Do you know what they’re saying?”

Bailey hummed thoughtfully but neither glanced at Salem nor ceased his stirring.  “Check on my soufflé, would you?”

“Oh, you just don’t want to tell me,” Salem huffed good-naturedly while Bailey smirked and half-shrugged.

He crossed the room to the oven while the two chefs chattered in French, squatting down in front of it to peer into the depths of the massive convection oven feeling domesticated in away that his numerous relationships—serious or minor—hadn’t quite managed to do before.

It hadn’t even been a question of finding something to do on Valentine’s Day with Bailey, just a knee-jerk reaction.  He’d called up Caroline two weeks before after doubling checking Bailey color-coded, updated to-the-minute schedule just to be sure before calling Max about healthy cooking classes in Paris. _He’d_ promptly handed the phone over to Bas who’d laughed and said his sister had dated Paris’s preeminent healthy eating chef-for-the-stars when she’d been interning with the Louvre’s PR department and he’d been in cooking school.

Salem was willingly embarking on eating hamster food to make Bailey happy with enough gusto to spend entirely too much money on a private cooking lesson with the world’s preeminent Parisian health food artisan like that was a _thing_. Granted there was chocolate soufflé for Salem’s peace of mind and, yes, he had a cachet of goodies plainly hidden in the very far back corner of Bailey’s mammoth pantry that he kindly pretended he didn’t know Bailey’s didn’t steal from every time he left the house for practice. But he cooked and purchased things like kale and cream spinach and arugula.

Which was why it was a shame that he was still dating strangers whose brains were more attractive than the whole rest of it.

 _Maybe I should take Charlie’s advice and just sit down and rehash this conversation,_ crossed his mind daily, certainly every time he received a text message from Carter that made Bailey stiffen and harden, a pressure-sensitive bomb setting and waiting for that one wrong move to explode.

It really was no way to live, but the first time’s rejection had been disappointing, disheartening even.

A second might break them, and Salem was willing to test their luck for a handful more days before their friendship—their undeclared, unofficial relationship—imploded from strain or jealousy or some combination of thereof.

“Are these _supposed_ to be all sad looking and deflated?” Salem questioned balefully, lazily looking back at Bailey over his shoulder.

Bailey’s eyes widened, spine straightening a moment before he whirled around, barking, “What?”

Joseph came up behind Bailey as he brusquely nudged Salem out of the way to squat down in front of the ovens. The pastry chef eyed his _Wizard of Oz_ wristwatch with confusion. “But, they shouldn’t be…”

Salem exploded in laughter as Bailey relaxed, glaring up at Salem.  “They’re not.  Salem’s being an absolute twat.”

Joseph’s eyes went wide, and he shot a similarly affected Hugh an SOS with his eyes.

Trying and failing to smother a grin, Bailey walked back to his sauce, completely ignoring Salem. He latched onto his wrist, letting Bailey’s momentum tug him against Bailey’s side.  He huffed even as shifted to accommodate him, an arm wrapping around Salem’s waist.  Salem looked between the still shell-shocked chefs who seemed more taken aback by Bailey’s cursing than their blatant and familiar physical affection.  Soaking up the warmth of Bailey’s body, Salem rested a hand on Bailey’s shoulder and rested his cheek on it, smiling sweetly.

“Oh never mind Bay. When he’s away from the cameras he’s an absolute turd,” Salem confided conspiratorially.

“Shut up, tosser,” Bailey retorted lightly, “I’m a fucking angel.”

“One of the fallen ones?”

“Those are _demons_ ,” Bailey corrected.

Salem nodded and feigned confusion, “Like I said, then.”

Bailey laughed, and Salem hid a smile entirely too affectionate in the fabric of Bailey’s shoulder, his eyes remaining on the chefs whose whole worldview seemed decimated by the sight of football star and PR-darling Arthur Bailey calling his male live-in lover a twat and a tosser in front of them without the slightest twinge of guilt.

 _This,_ Salem decided, _this is good._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually have them go to real restaurants (I love research) but I was lacking wifi at the time this was written. Chez Moreaux is totally not real. I've never cooked a souffle but I do understand the basic principe. Confession time: I have no idea what they're cooking in this scene. Like I said, I was out wifi and my cooking abilities extend to pasta, steak, hamburgers, tacos, and quesadillas. I don't know how I've managed to survive uni thus far now that I'm thinking about it (pizza, I can order a mean pizza).
> 
> Anyway, I'm kind of squealing now that I realise where you are versus where I am in terms of writing. Omg that shit's that's coming soon is unreal. I can't even.
> 
> Also my creative writing teacher told me today that no books over 120,000 words are interesting enough to be published and that it wasn't a quality novel if it's online. I don't know, I think I'm going to keep writing 200,000+ words on gay celebrities online and read epic novel-length fanfiction on ao3 because I fucking enjoy it. (Not that I was planning to get this published because of my overwhelming fear of rejection...also, yeah, it's too long for traditional publishing even online publishers, but that's still kind of a shitty thing to say so I'm ranting).


	34. "Move" by Little Mix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bailey celebrates his birthday with friends, Nihal and Harley drop a bomb, and then there's Molly Sloan.

**Text message to Bailey**

**Katie:** Just letting you know about mom’s chemo treatment today.

 **Katie:** I’m sure she’d appreciate it if one of her sons would turn up.

 **Bailey:** Just letting u kno i have practice

 **Bailey:** Im sure shed apperci8 not using manufactured fam mmts 2 generate press

 **Bailey:** mayb thts just me tho

 

**Arsenal Aimee (@AimeAndFire)**

@ArthurBailey hasn’t been looking so good #worriedaboutthebae

 

**AbeRforth (@Abe_Rain017x)**

@AimeAndFire is the reason girls should stick to what they do best. @ArthurBailey is playing fantastically

 

**Janine (@JA_9)**

@Abe_Rain107x @AimeandFore cuz how he’s playing is all that matters #fuckingmen #helooksamess

 

**RT by @Bon_Carol**

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

Let’s keep the sexism out of sports please. Honestly somebody caring isn’t something to attack #thanksforthelove

 

**Daiki Company’s CEO bromancing London’s elite**

Carter Skeet, a DJ set to release his first LP, _Abrasion,_ in early May has been seen around Camden Town in London where he frequently DJs and lives alongside dynamic young tech mogul, Konstantin Kimura-Petrov, the pair clubbing and lunching.  “They’re friends,” a rep from Skeet’s team commented.  “They’re both really interested in innovative technology and creating new things. It’s really constructive thing and they’re both enjoying spending time with each other.”  And Skeet’s not the only one getting cozy with Kimura-Petrov, he’s been close with Arsenal footballer Arthur Bailey as well as _Ethereal_ actor, Charlie Beck, who he’s been longtime friends with. And we do love seeing the spunky tech mogul dragging the industry’s good boys out of their shells.

 

**Text message to Carey**

**Salem:** That surprise party you’re failing at secretly planning isn’t going to happen

 **Carey:** I’m not making a very happy face about that.

 **Carey:** Do I get a reason or…

 **Salem:** Or…

 **Carey:** Ur an absolute arse. U know that?

 **Salem:** You can’t see it but I’m smirking.

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

Happy happy happy birthday to my bestest best friend @Arthur Bailey #officiallyabigboy #big2andO

* * *

“ _Ay Dios mio_ , Gabriela, the _culo_ on that _hombre maravilloso._ ”  The dark-haired, smoky-eyed Flamenco dancer whispered to her coworker, heavy-lidded brown eyes never leaving Bailey’s figure as he dipped Kanani with a solemn face only belied by the amusement in his eyes, though his lips curved ever so slightly as she broke into laughter and wound her arms around his neck.

Gabriela Bonaventura, who’d been leading the group’s Flamenco classes in addition to being one of El Tablao de Carmen’s featured dancers, whipped her head around to nod furiously at the other dancer’s statement.  “Who knew television could be so truthful for once?” She asked with a heavy Barcelona accent as she leaned towards her friend.  “Honestly, sweaty on the _campo de fútbol_ or learning Flamenco with his ex-girlfriend—” the other dancer snorted doubtfully at that, perfectly timed with Kanani pressing a kiss to Bailey’s cheek in her buzz-induced over-affectionate way “—Arthur Bailey is _ridículamente caliente_ , no Pilar?”

 _Pilar_ , Salem said to himself nodding as he took another sip of his Sangria, eyes going from the two female Flamenco dancers to their partners who had managed to contain their starstruck expressions when Arthur Bailey had walked uncertainly into the Barcelona restaurant and Flamenco dance hall.  It probably had something to do with seeing Arthur’s glaring ineptitude transform into something halfway decent under their tutelage; their female counterparts, however, couldn’t quite manage to curb their fascination with Bailey.

Salem wouldn’t hold it against them.

He couldn’t curb it either.

“What are _you_ up to, then, Mr. Kimura-Petrov?” A hushed feminine voice with a distinct Irish brogue asked from behind him.

He’d barely turned before Molly Sloan, Carey Ahearn’s baby mama-turned ex-turned once again girlfriend, was sliding into the seat beside him with a soft smile.

The guest list for Bailey’s birthday party had been more of a pill than figuring out a way to get ten people from London to Barcelona for a single day, but who to actually call up and invite. He’d ended up going the safest route possible and picking a small number of people he knew for certain Bailey got along with and liked with minimal reservation, which had come down to Kanani, her girlfriend Catriona, Nihal and Harley, Charlie—whose partner in crime had to stay in London as he had filming, Benedikt Roland—who Salem had never met before and had had an hell of an awkward conversation with over the phone, and Carey Ahearn who’d smiled innocently as he asked, “As your friend Patrick can’t come, can I bring Molly?”

Well, Salem wasn’t going to say _no_.

Molly Sloan was an enigma. Her tempestuous relationship with Carey even more so.  She wasn’t a homegrown Irish baker with the body of runway model and a fashion sense to match. Molly Sloan was a simple pretty with wispy strands of dark hair that barely fell to her shoulders in loose curls and warm green eyes set in a rounded face.  She had bangs and the pale skin of someone who lived in a country that saw far more rain than they ever saw sunlight dusted with millions of tiny freckles. She was, in a word, cute, but Salem had seen the women Carey had gone out with when he and Molly had been separated and wondered just what it was about the homely woman that had managed to properly ensnare Carey.

“You can call me Salem. It’s not a boardroom, and I have no intention of dragging your ass to get my way.”  Salem stiffened, eyes widening in disbelief at what he’d said while Molly giggled.

“Are you so ruthless in the boardroom?”

Half-smiling and shrugging timidly, Salem confessed, “I might be, but I don’t dominate and tell.” He froze and winced again. _Innuendos and cursing around the woman who reminds you of your grandmother; nice Salem,_ he thought to himself.

Molly didn’t seem bothered, which was just as well as she lived with a football player and Carey to boot.

Humming thoughtfully, she cocked her head and studied Bailey profile with an altogether too knowing smile that pricked every one of Salem’s nerves.  “Yes, well, that’s evident, isn’t it?”

“I don’t follow,” Salem retorted, his tone hardening.

Turning her head towards him lazily, Molly smirked, “Come on now, dove, I don’t buy that for a second. Just like I never bought, well, _that_.”  Molly waved a hand in the direction of Kanani and Bailey, chatting amicably as Joaquin gave them pointers.  Salem’s eyes flicked from Bailey to Molly who eyed the half dozen shots of _chupito de gazpacho_ —gazpacho soup—on the table top with interest.  “Would you mind terrible?”

“Tapas _are_ for sharing,” Salem responded.

She tossed back the gazpacho easily before sipping her wine with a genial smile that Salem didn’t like. “I’m not about to go sharing what I know to be true so stop contemplating the best way to off me and rid yourself of the body.”

“I’d never.”

“I don’t believe _that_ ,” Molly remarked plainly, “not for a second.  ‘Second coming of Steve Jobs’ they all said, and you don’t get _there_ without being a little ruthless.”

“That’s a high estimation of my character.”

“No, but it’s a high estimation of your business acumen, which are not the same thing and don’t have the same rules.”

Salem cocked his head, “You’re expanding your bakery, aren’t you?  Carey mentioned it to Bailey.”

Molly smiled serenely and nodded.  “I’ve finally got the capital to open up another store.  In Manchester, most likely.  I don’t feel like I need a second store in London, and my sister’s handling the accounts of the bakery in Belfast.”  She half turned her head towards Salem with a toothy smile.  “You’re not the only one with business acumen, nor are you the only one who’d do anything to protect the people close to you.”

“I feel like that was a threat, but I’ll be honest after being snapped at by the Labour Party leader in his own home in front of his whole shark tank of a family, your threat isn’t really all that terrifying.”

“Whose threatening?” Charlie asked as he sidled up with his arm thrown around Harley’s shoulders and a plate of _calamares a la andula_ in hand. He held them out to Salem. “Squid?”

Salem snorted, “So _you’re_ the one who stole the calamari.”

Charlie shook his head while Harley colored slightly and raised a hand.  “Guilty.”

“Unacceptable you red-handed thief.  You’re fired!”

“Bullshit,” Harley replied lightly, “you wouldn’t survive without me.”  Nihal appeared behind her with two glasses of Sangria in his hand that he offered to Harley as he sat down beside Molly.  “Right, Nihal?”

Nihal scoffed, “I don’t know how _you_ think this relationship works, but I don’t blindly agree with everything you say.”

“Boo!” Charlie and Harley said at the same time before devolving into laughter.  Nihal rolled his eyes.  Salem shook his head at them, still eyeing Molly carefully. Charlie picked up on his wariness and refocused on them with a laser-like focus.  “What’s this about a threat?”

Molly shook her head while Salem turned to his best friend.  “Molly was just letting me know her estimation of my ‘business acumen’ and how it translates into doing anything for the people I care about. Isn’t that right, Molly?”

Not cowed in the slightest, Molly shrugged delicately while Charlie exchanged a loaded look with Nihal and Harley.

“What?” Salem demanded.

“Well, she’s not _wrong_ , is she?” Charlie asked. “I mean,” his voice lowered as he swayed closer towards Salem, “you committed a felony in front of witnesses to keep a sex tape from being released.”

“It would have ruined his career.”

“Yes, but _in front of witnesses_ , witnesses that weren’t me or Bailey or Max who loved you the ends of the earth and back again, you understand?”

“Did the video get released?”

“No, but you got arrested by Interpol!” Charlie remarked both of them wincing at how loud he’d been.

Salem’s eyes went to Bailey who stood still, watching them across the room with narrowed eyes and a straightened spine.  Kanani stood just behind him chatting amicably with the bartender, Marcos, Sangria dangling from her French manicured fingertips and her bemused girlfriend in Bailey’s arms.  Bailey met Salem’s gaze and mouthed, “All right?”

Eyebrows drawing together, Salem nodded, and Bailey rolled his eyes but turned back to Catriona as Salem’s head swiveled back towards Charlie.

“Say that a little louder next time.  I don’t think the people in Madrid heard you.”

“So is it true?” Molly mused, “That you used to hack for Anonymous.”

“ _With_ Anonymous, because fuck if I was getting _paid_. And if I was a dangerous criminal do you think I’d admit it or that you should ask me that?”

Molly rolled her eyes while Nihal scoffed, “’Dangerous criminal.’  You’re a puppy, Salem.”

“Except in meetings with investors we need him to be nice to,” Harley growled, glowering at him.

“When our books slip into the red, I’ll play nice with people who want to toss money at me and tell me how to behave, but until then, I’ll handle my business my way. It hasn’t seemed to be detrimental yet.”

Harley pointed a warning finger at him, and Salem turned to Charlie.  “See what you started?”

“Me?” Charlie asked innocently, and Salem raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms over his chest.  “Alright, fine, I’m sorry.  Also, did you get an invite to Max and Bastian’s wedding?”

Salem’s lips curved up into a broad grin.  “Yes! Those absolute bastards, though, didn’t even tell anyone when they went and got fucking engaged. I just open up Bailey’s mailbox to find an invite addressed to both of us to attend their _wedding_ in November.  I’m so underwhelmed by that kind of announcement.  Who does that?”

“Way to make this all about you,” Charlie laughed.

“Fuck off, Chaz! My year just got so busy. Did you know I’m attending Comic-Con in New York with you boyfriend in October.”

“Not my boyfriend,” Charlie tossed back.

“But you _want_ him to be, right?”  Harley replied.  Charlie pointed a finger at her warningly, and she held her hands up in surrender even as she smirked proudly.  She turned suddenly to look at Salem with clear discomfort in her eyes. “Your friend, Georgia, asked me for a raise yesterday around the same time she complained to the whole office that you were a terrible friend for not inviting her to this little soiree.”

“Bailey’s not her biggest fan,” Salem responded.

Harley tossed his a droll look while Charlie and Nihal exchanged glances that clearly said Salem was full of shit.  And he _was_ but he wasn’t.  Georgia made Bailey uncomfortable but he dealt with worse on a daily basis than a sexually predatory, overpaid ex-lover turned personal assistant. If Salem had wanted her to come, Bailey would have relented.

“Have you looked into her finances?”  Harley inquired.

“I make it my mission not to involve myself in the personal lives my employees, barring my favorite business partners.”  Harley didn’t seem the least bit charmed, and Salem dropped his smile and shrugged. “Georgia’s always had a problem with money.  She doesn’t know how to budget.  Don’t give her a raise. It’s not a big deal. This is not the first time she’s done something like this, and it won’t be the last.  Besides, I can’t justify giving her a raise even if I wanted to, not when Adrienne’s ready to strangle her because she never does any work.”

Nodding slowly, Harley sipped her Sangria and eyed Salem carefully, “You sure?”

“Positive,” Salem remarked.

“Molls! What are you doing with these sad, sad anti-dance people when you could be Flamenco-ing with _moi_?”  Carey asked dramatically, draping himself over his girlfriend’s side while she rolled her eyes and swatted him.

“Carey Ahearn, how much have you had to drink?”

“Not nearly as much as I _wanted_ to.” Molly glared, and Carey relented, his easy smile staying in place as he tossed an arm over the imposing, white blond figure that was Bailey ex-teammate and Chelsea’s German-born midfielder, Benedikt Roland.  “Benny, here, was regaling me with tales of his children.  I was sharing my story about Alana’s new haircutting phase over those mini-croquettes.  We were being boring and domestic together, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Molly deadpanned.

Carey sighed in exasperation. “Are we really going to do this today?”

Molly seemed to mentally debate how to answer that, and Salem held his breath, leaning into Charlie, only releasing it when she’d turned to Harley and Nihal.  “And what about you two?  When are the pair of you getting married?”

“ _That_ is an excellent question,” Salem turned towards the pair of them, noting the quick, guilty look they shared.  His eyes narrowed in suspicion.  A warm weight settled at his back, and he relaxed, breathing in the scent of Bailey’s disgustingly expensive cologne.  Bailey’s hand squeezed the back of his neck in greeting before dipping into Salem’s electric green hair and tugging on his slightly. Salem bit back a moan, and Bailey stifled a laugh as he shifted to drape his arm over Salem’s shoulder, leaning into him slightly.

Salem shot him a poisonous look.  Bailey smiled demurely, taking the Sangria out of his hands to sip it as he looked around at the assembled group.  “What’s an excellent question?”

“When Nihal and Harley are tying the knot,” Charlie reiterated.

“Oh…well…” Harley began hesitantly, looking to Nihal who shook his head, bemused.

“You dug yourself this hole.”

Benedikt looked between the two of them before gaping and whispering a disbelieving, “No.”

Harley cleared her throat and set her Sangria down, adjusting her skirt in a carefully cultivated maneuver that never failed to demonstrate how nervous she was. “Right, then, I know we’re not terribly Orthodox, but we both pretend to be.  For our parents’ sakes.  It’s for the best really.”

“I feel like there’s a point to this,” Salem interrupted.

Bailey pinched him. “Let the girl talk, Sale, before she passes out from hyperventilation.”

_Okay, maybe he has a point._

Taking a deep breath, Harley nodded, “Right. Remember when we went to Punjab for a week to pack up all our belongings and get it sent here?”  Salem nodded slowly, already knowing where this was going. “We might have gotten married while we were there.  Technically. I mean his family is Orthodox Muslim. Mine are Sikhs. I mean extramarital relations are highly discouraged.”

Salem gaped at them, and Bailey rubbed his back comfortingly.  Kanani nodded and shared a look with Catriona.  “We should elope too if we decide to go that route. Save on the drama.”

Catriona laughed, and Bailey shot her a bland look.  “I don’t mind, but I’m pretty sure your family might actually scalp you.”

Kanani blanched, “Fuck yeah, you’re right.  Never mind.”

Bailey snorted and murmured just low enough for Salem to hear, “That’s what she gets for being a smartass.”

Harley looked nervously at Salem, wringing her hands together while Nihal sipped his drink, unaffected. “Well say something.”

“I need to get you a gift,” Salem blurted.  Harley blinked in surprise, taken aback by what she doubtlessly thought was a lackluster reaction to her announcement, but Salem was still entirely stuck on the fact that, yeah, he probably should have known that.  Harley and Nihal were unorthodox enough to be a Muslim and a sikh couple from Punjab who’d been engaged on top of staying that way when Harley had left for three years to study finance in London, then Nihal had moved to a new country for her. Heavily as the pair of them drank in each other’s presence, they at least pretended for their parents. Really, Salem ought to have known better.

Salem nodded, “A gift.” He turned to Bailey. “What do you get people as a gift when they get married?  We have to get Max and Bastian one too.”

Bailey shrugged, “I had my agent’s PA get Benny his gift when he got married.”

“That’s lovely, Bailey, very nice.  Very classy,” Benedikt said while Carey burst into laughter, slapping his shoulder.

Carey beamed, “I feel much better.  So did I.”

“ _Verpiss dich_ , you’re both children.”

“You can always get them a ‘sorry we didn’t realize you were married’ fruit basket while you ruminate,” Charlie added.

Salem nodded, “Fruit baskets are always a good way to go.”

“Fucking hell, no! No fruit baskets!” Harley exclaimed. Kanani raised her eyebrows, and Harley shook her head.  “Nihal’s such a nutcase. He has me eating fruit salads and healthy fruit smoothies like ten times a day.  I can’t handle it.  No more fruit.”

“I hear that,” Molly nodded.

“Excuse me, healthy eating is good habits for Alana to get into,” Carey argued.

“ _I’m_ not Alana.”

Catriona nudged Kanani and pointed, “See, I’m not the only one who doesn’t want to diet _with you_ just because I’m _with you_.”  Kanani scoffed.

Salem smiled, tilting his head back when Bailey tugged on his ponytail.

He took a moment to admire Bailey in the dim, romantic lighting of the Flamenco venue, the warm yellow light bringing out the golden hues in his light brown skin and chocolate eyes and highlighting his sculpted bone structure made plainer with his lengthening ink black hair pulled into a small ponytail at the base of his neck. The dancers hadn’t been exaggerating, Bailey was gorgeous, and the fitted black slacks that clung to his muscular thighs and flawless ass did absolutely nothing to hide it.

Bailey looked down at Salem and smiled softly at him.  “Happy birthday, Bay,” he muttered quietly, just loud enough for Bailey to hear him over the playful bickering of their friends.

“Yeah, it was rather great.” Bailey pressed his forehead to Salem’s and whispered a heartfelt thank you that had him melting. He pulled back, hesitating slightly as he met Salem’s eyes.  “I…I know I’m not…you could have invited Carter.”

Salem shook his head, distinctly uncomfortable with Bailey even mentioning the man he’d been seeing but hardly _dating_ for the last two months. “It’s your birthday, Bailey. Besides, I wouldn’t do that to you, even if you do make me eat kale,” he forced a teasing look.

“Oh fuck off, when have I ever made you eat kale?”   Bailey started before stopping, shaking his head with clear frustration. He caught Salem’s gaze with determination and something else, Salem just couldn’t quite put his finger on. “Salem, we…” he started.

Tensing, Salem shook his head, “Not today, Bailey, okay?”

He hesitated for a moment before pursing his lips with displeasure but acquiescing, “Okay, Salem.  Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People are gross when it comes to women watching sports sometimes. I'm a hockey fan. It's just ridiculous sometimes.
> 
> The restaurant in this chapter really does exist. It's called El Tablao de Carmen in Barcelona Spain. They do teach Flamenco dancing and serve those specific tapas. I found their menu online, and it looks delicious.
> 
> Also, happy vr yearly Monday. I kind of want to go back to Barcelona now, despite spending half the time sitting in a restaurant eating seven different kinds of paella when I could have been exploring. It's okay because I'm marathoning the shit out of Masters of Sex.


	35. "Love Myself" by Hailee Steinfeld

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bailey makes the decision to start telling the truth.

To: susannahwhytebailey@gmail.co.uk; jamesarthurbailey@gmail.co.uk

From: kingarthurb@gmail.co.uk

Subject: RE: Familial duties

I’m sorry mother’s ill. It does affect me. It does hurt. No matter our personal issues, she’s my mother, and I’d appreciate it if you could refrain from accusing me from being indifferent about what she’s going through, because I’m not. The fact is, I don’t owe you anything. If you want me to come see you, mother, than simply say so, but I refuse to be party to the never ending parade of sympathy press surrounding your condition in an effort to boost sympathy votes for father’s campaign to be Prime Minister. You’re both political animals, and you’ve trained the rest of your children up to be the same, I understand that, but I have no interest in being tabloid fodder or helping you on your bedside press vigil. I don’t care what it looks like.

Arthur

 

**RT by @TheDaikiCo. @D_Crawfish @RAB_Lexton @ChangedGeorgia @ArthurBailey @CharlieBeck @StPatty_)**

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

Congrats to @NihalFar @HarleyBhat on tying the knot…even if they didn’t tell us about it

 

**Text message to Salem**

**Carter:** We need 2 talk about this.

 **Carter:** Nd that u don’t want 2 says a lot.

 **Carter:** Don’t ignore me.

 **Salem:** I’m not ‘ignoring’ you. I’m working. I don’t have time for drama right now.

 **Carter:** U always fucking do this when u don’t want 2 talk about this.

 **Salem:** What am I doing? I’m fucking trying to work Carter.

 **Salem:** Let’s just do dinner tonight at Wahaca on the water at 9 and talk about this later. Ok?

 

**Text message to Harry**

**Salem:** What would you do if your client was being slandered in the press cuz of his parents?

 **Salem:** He doesn’t say anything in response so it just kind of…

 **Harry:** Are we talking about Arthur Bailey?

 **Harry:** I read the rags. ‘Footballer robot’ ‘ice-hearted Arsenal forward’ ‘absentee son’

 **Salem:** Maybe…

 **Harry:** Yeah, ok, you’re lucky I like you Salem.

 **Harry:** I’ll have Rosie send Caroline and Bailey an email.

 **Salem:** Thank you H :)

 

**Arsenal footballer speaks about mother’s cancer**

Arthur Bailey, son of Labour Party leader and MP James Bailey and Arsenal’s young star forward, has often been recriminated for being so absent from his mother, Susannah’s, bedside as she suffers through aggressive treatment for pancreatic cancer. In the wake of being accused of being cold-hearted, dismissive, and uncaring, partying in Barcelona with friends when his mother was getting her next round of radiation treatment in London Bridge Hospital, Bailey has responded.  “It’s been extremely difficult to deal with everything. I love my mother, but we haven’t been close for some time. This came as a huge shock when I was already in the midst of trying to adjust to changes in my personal life and on the pitch,” with team captain Bakar Bengochea ready to retire at the end of this season and Bailey rumoured to be amongst the most highly discussed to replace him. Bailey went on to say, “I’m not comfortable reconnecting with her when I can see her wasting away in front of me when there are so many cameras and reporters looking in to dissect what’s happening. I want to come to terms with what’s happening alongside her, but that’s not an option. Not when there’s so much press coverage of something that should be private.”

 

To: kingarthurb@gmail.co.uk

From: jameschristopher@gmail.co.uk

Subject: That statement

I would just like to point out that you probably shouldn’t have done that, for starters. Also, mum and dad are furious.

Rhiannon would like me to tell you well done.

I know we’ve had our differences, and I know what you think of me, but I do love you Bailey, and I don’t disagree with my wife.

Jamie

* * *

“Tell me that’s a joke, Salem,” Bailey intoned, his mobile wedged between his shoulder and his ear as he filled his plate with eggs and bacon, only just conscious of the sounds of his teammates chatting amicably over breakfast around him and the nutritionist eyeing his growing plate of protein with a hard look.  Behind him, Carey snorted and helped himself to another piece of ham, beaming broadly at the man, pointedly.  “You know how I feel about animals.”

Scooping up his plate, he walked onwards, the girl manning the tea and coffee station smiling politely even as she looked a little disconcerted by her surroundings.  “Tea or coffee?”

“Um, yes?”  In his ear, Salem chortled while Carey rolled his eyes and snagged a black coffee as he brushed passed, nodding towards a half empty table in the corner.  Bailey nodded once at him and looked back to the mousy girl. “Do you have Earl Grey?”

“Yes?” She didn’t sound too sure, but that didn’t surprise Bailey, nor did it put him off.

“I’ll have that then.”

Eyes wide, she nodded, turning to root through the tea packets with unsteady hand while Bailey turned his attention back to his conversation because heaven help Salem if he had actually done something as ridiculous as get a dog to run wild and rampant around Bailey’s pristine home.  He might love Salem—and that admittance even just to himself still left him a bit breathless and doubly horrified—but he wasn’t above murder.

Salem laughed, “Not _exactly_ a joke.”

“Salem,” Bailey hissed into his mobile.  The girl winced, hot tea sloshing over the sides of the paper cub. She yelped as it hit her skin, and Bailey took it from her quickly offering her and equally mortified, apologetic smile, turning abruptly to meander through the haphazard arrangement of round table his teammates had spread out across over breakfast.

“I did _find_ a dog on the side of the road, _but_ ,” he continued before Bailey could snap at him, “I gave it to Nihal and Harley because I have a life.  That life does not include caring for and/or picking up after a canine.”

“Or a feline, just so we’re clear.  I don’t do litter boxes.”

“Neither do I.  Gross. We could get a…” he paused thinking it over, and Bailey waited as he sank into a mildly comfortable metal chair across the table from Carey, ignoring Rafa entirely.  “…robot.  Yeah. They’re self-sustaining.”

“I thought that’s what your computer was.  We don’t need your borderline sentient laptop to go Ultron on our robotic pet.  I get the feeling it only mildly tolerates my Mac.”

“ _I_ only mildly tolerate your Mac so…” Bakar sat down at the table suddenly, surprising everyone. Bailey raised his eyebrows at him, and Bakar smiled genially back.

“Sale, I gotta…”

“Yeah, yeah, Bay.  Have a good game today.”

Bailey couldn’t quite stop the smile that spread across his face, and he ducked his head, heat rising in his cheek as he hid behind the still too short curtain of his hair.  “You’re gonna watch, right?”

“Of course, Arthur,” he said softly before clearing his throat pointedly, continuing tersely, “now go away, I have work to do.”

“So you keep telling me.  I’ve yet to see it.”

“I’m meeting with my realtor,” Salem grudgingly confessed.

Bailey’s mouth fell open as he momentarily forgot all about everyone else at the table and his captain waiting for his undivided attention. “For what?”

“A storefront…”

“No fucking way.  Salem!”

“Gotta go.  Have a good, Bailey. Bye.”

The connection died abruptly, and Bailey looked down at his phone with narrowed eyes until someone cleared their throat.  Rafa made a face, and Bailey cringed back into his seat before shaking off the feeling and turning towards Bakar.  “Sorry, I was talking to Salem.”

Bakar nodded sagely.  “Great guy. I like him.  So does my Alisa…which is probably why my bank account doesn’t.”

Rafa snorted, but Carey nodded in understanding.  Bailey fought the rising urge to roll his eye as he turned back to Bakar.  “I get all the stuff for free so…I can’t relate?”  Bakar sniggered, and Bailey colored and cringed, sinking even deeper in his seat. He blinked and shook his head, not looking up until Bakar’s laughter had subsided.

“Come,” Bakar nodded his head, “I want to talk to you.”

Bailey startled, looking between his captain and his breakfast before he nodded once uncertainly. “Yeah, okay.”

 

They ended up in St. John’s Gardens walking quietly on the paved pathway between blooming treen and still unnaturally green grass that pervaded Britain no matter the time of year courtesy of the unceasing light rain and pervasive moisture.

St. George’s Hall, the imposing beige stone structure, rising in the distance in all its impressive Roman reminiscent architecture: too many steps and seemingly more columns than windows.  The most prominent thing in the park was the monument up ahead, adjacent to the Hall that made Bailey narrow his eyes and tilt his head to consider it with its Roman goddess of war-esque statue on a towering pedestal and 19th or 20th century soldiers flanking it on either side.

 _That’s weird,_ Bailey thought, snapping a quick picture of it and sending it to Salem accompanied by half a dozen half question marks and a whole host of frown-y faces.

Bakar turned to him suddenly, drawing them both to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk.  At barely a quarter passed ten, the park had a grand total of five other people milling around it with the half-awake look of people before they’d had their first cup of morning coffee, but that didn’t make Bailey any more comfortable standing like an absolute knob in the middle of a major walkway to have a chit-chat they could have just about anywhere else.

Either ignorant of Bailey’s discomfort or outright ignoring it, Bakar started talking. “You don’t want to be captain.”

Bailey startled, “I…what?”

Bakar shrugged, “If you think you’re hiding it well, you’re well out of your mind Bailey.  You don’t want to be captain, and that’s…I mean, it’s not _fine_ , but I do want to know _why_.”

“I can’t be captain,” Bailey breathed, his body relaxing as the words left his lips.

“Why not?”

Bailey shook his head and finished his tea, the still too hot liquid scalding his tongue and the roof of his mouth.  He didn’t even flinch at the pain, turning back to meet Bakar’s dark eyes, still locked onto him with a singular focus.  “I can’t.”

“Not good enough, Bailey,” Bakar retorted shortly, his tone hard, and Bailey reacted the way he always did to people in authority, snapping towards him, spine straightening, body stiffening, and his face shuttering. Bakar sighed and ran a hand through his hair.  “Don’t do that, Bailey. I’m not _reprimanding_ you, but this is the future of the team we’re talking about. ‘I can’t’ isn’t an excuse. It’s barely even an explanation to why you’ve been so standoffish about this.  You’d be the best for the team.”

Bailey laughed humorlessly and shook his head, tone deadly serious, as he said, “No, I wouldn’t.”

Bakar threw his hands up.  “Tell me why you think that.”

“You and corporate think I’d be good because I can make plays and create offense and score goals without putting our defense in a tight spot. I’m a good player, a _valuable_ player, but I’m not captain material.”

“Is this about Rafa?”

Bailey didn’t know how to answer that, because it _wasn’t_ , not _really_ , but it also was. In addition to the rest of his idiosyncrasies and glare ineptitudes, Bailey had just let his and Rafa’s issues slip right under the rug because he hadn’t wanted to deal with them. He was hugely non-confrontational and would rather just wait for the issue to resolve itself or boil over than deal with it when it could cause conflict.  Generally that level of passivity wasn’t looked upon favorably as a lifestyle trait let alone a quality that would lead a united team.

Bailey shrugged halfheartedly.  “It’s about how my being a good player doesn’t mean it’ll translate into my being a good captain. The world does not revolve around football.”

That seemed to take Bakar aback for a moment, nodding his head slowly as he exhaled slowly.  “I never expected to hear you say that.”  Bailey bit the inside of his cheek as he felt his face heart.  Bakar shook his head.  “It’s okay, Bailey. It’s good.  I just never expected to hear _you_ say that; I never believed the ‘he’s _all_ about football’ narrative, but you worked damn hard to make sure we all did.”  Bailey stayed silent, turning and walking towards the monument like he could run from the whole conversation, but Bakar stayed with him, walking beside him silently.

Bailey kicked a pebble on the ground, hands in his pockets and eyes on the monument in front of them.

“I think,” Bakar spoke slowly, “this would be good for you.”

“But it wouldn’t be good for the team.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Bakar, just drop it, okay?”  Bailey snapped sharply.

Bakar’s eyebrows rose, surprised at Bailey’s tone.  Bailey, who had never raised his voice at anybody on the team outside of a game since he’d been signed year again.  He swallowed painfully and shook his head teeth clenched and jaw set.

“Have you even thought about it?”  Bakar pressed anyway, and of course he would.  There’d been a reason he’d been captain, and it certainly wasn’t due to his tendency to let things slide.  He pushed and pushed and pushed until he got a reaction. “Have you seriously thought about it Bailey, because I have and the team has and corporate has.”

Pausing, Bailey thought about how to answer that with his back pressed against the wall such as it was.  Captaincy was out of the question.  It had been a long shot consideration when he’d been signed four year ago and had disappeared further into the distance as a farsighted dream when he met Salem. With Salem being as high profile as he currently was albeit in a different circle, and the pair of them unable to keep their dicks in their pants and their hands off each other, it couldn’t happen.  Surprisingly, it didn’t bother Bailey as much it might have a couple years ago.

“I’m gay,” Bailey admitted.

That seemed to bring Bakar up short.  He took a breath, opening his mouth like he wanted to say something before slamming it closed with an audible click.  Bailey raised his eyebrows and tipped his head with a self-deprecating smile on his lips.  Bakar’s eyes drifted up, and he took a sip from his coffee cup as he nodded his head.

Eventually he glanced over at Bailey shrewdly, “So, Salem?”

“Yeah, Salem.”

“Salem who had a boyfriend?”

Bailey turned his head and met Bakar’s eyes without answering, half because the judgment in his voice grated the entire wrong way and half because regardless of the point of the conversation _that_ was none of anybody’s business except the people involved.

Bakar huffed and nodded, “ _Arraio…ados_ , okay, I still don’t understand why you can’t.  It’s not like you’re planning on coming out.”

“No,” Bailey admitted with a half-shrug, “but Salem’s…not going anywhere. There’ll eventually be questions. It’ll be a distraction and the whole team will get dragged into it, and if, God forbid, anything got out it would detract from everything the team accomplished.  If I accept the captaincy, I become the team, and the whole team gets dragged into any drama that comes with me.  You know that.  I’m a ticking time-bomb.  I’m a liability. It’s one thing to get questions about your teammate being gay, but it’s another thing to get questions about the person who’s supposed to be leading you.  Besides, if anything happened, I can’t focus on the team. I can’t even get my personal life together; there’s no way I’d be capable of handling that kind of scandal and making sure the team stays stable.  If I crash and burn, I need to do it on my own.”

Bakar studied him silently before abruptly pulling him for a tight hug. Bailey stiffened in his hold but didn’t otherwise object, realizing that this was as much for Bakar as it was for Bailey. He pulled back and cupped Bailey’s cheeks like he had when he’d first met Bailey, barely passed puberty and declared him ‘the most adorable powerhouse I’ve ever seen.’  He held Bailey’s gaze and held it meaningfully. “You are not going to crash and burn.”

“If I get outed I’m finished.”

“And how likely is that?”

Bailey shrugged, “I’ve had close calls before.”

“And I suppose you’re stuck on Salem?”

An involuntary smile slid across Bailey’s lips, and he stepped back away from Bakar, running a hand through his already mussed hair anxiously. “I might be a bit in love with him.”

“A bit?”  Bakar scoffed, shaking his head.  “You’re not wrong about the captaincy, but you are wrong about the rest of it. If anyone could come out in the prime of their career and make it, it’d be you.”

“That’s…” Bailey shook his head with a sharp huff of laughter that had Bakar cocking his head to study him carefully.  “No, I…this isn’t Hollywood.  We’re not…this is sports.  Half the time people are still saying that females only watch it because they find the players attractive and not because the genuinely enjoy the game.  We aren’t there yet.  Sports aren’t there yet.  If I get outed I’m finished.”

“I’m sorry, Bailey.”

“It’s fine.”

“It isn’t, because they should be.  We should be.  It’s not fair that we aren’t.”

Bailey shrugged, “Life isn’t fair.”

“Maybe not,” Bakar replied, “but football fucking should be.” His determined face, and the deathly seriousness of his voice had Bailey doubled over in laughter, and he decided to neither comment nor be embarrassed by the watery smile Bakar directed at him.  Shaking his head as Bailey brushed away the tears that had escaped from his eyes, Bakar threw an arm around Bailey’s shoulders and pulled him into his side, ruffling his hair playfully as he guided him back to their hotel.

And for the first time, Bailey let him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally said when I would be posting last week was Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. That is still the plan...except I'm totally going to spoil you this week and put one up every day in order for you to get where I want (and where I think ya'll deserve, quite frankly) to get by the weekend.
> 
> I've never actually been to Liverpool (it's on my list), but two of my former roommates are. They actually live in Camden Town now. St. John's Gardens really exist. I studied a great many topographical maps to get the setting right for this chapter because I'm psychotic like that. The monument is commemorative of the King's Regiment in the South African War. It's weird.
> 
> Bailey's lightening up a little, which happened completely by accident. This chapter was supposed to go a completely different way, but I guess Salem's a good influence and Bailey was ready.
> 
> Anyway, you're Tuesday chapter that's not supposed to exist. I'm now going to buy a chicken wrap and watch Blindspot and Quantico in my uni library.


	36. "Magnets" by Disclosure ft. Lorde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carter and Salem finally define their relationship, and Kanani chats with Salem about Georgia.

**RT by @Salem_Daiki**

**Carter Skeet (@SkeeterDJ)**

It’s here! Make sure you check out my first LP #abrasion

 

**I MET BAILEY!!! (@KylerXcurran)**

OMFG I MET @ArthurBailey AT SAINSBURY DROPPED MY PHONE SO HE HAD @Salem_Daiki FIX IT FOR ME :’)

 

**Andrea At UEL (@_drea_turpin_)**

@KylerXcurran lol they’re so domestic #adorable #bromance

 

**Brett sees all (@Bre_tCurran)**

@_drea_turpin_ that’s disgusting don’t even start. 2 guys can’t be friends anymore without the entire world thinking they’re fucking #insane

 

**Text message to Harry**

**Salem:** What do you think of oatcakes and wheatgerm?

**Harry:** Is this some weird way of asking me out, cuz now I’m definitely not interested.

**Harry:** Also Bailey might try to kill me, and Iri def would if his fav footballer got locked up for assault because I fucked his boyfriend

**Salem:** Lol no. I’m trying to decide if Bailey’s fucking with me or not.

**Harry:** Wheatgerm? He’s screwing with you. And if he isn’t: run

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

@Salem_Daiki hahahahahahahahahahaha #institches #heactuallyatethat #wheatgermsmoothies

 

**Text message to Salem**

**Carter:** Is this you blowing me off?

**Salem:** That what it sounds like? That’s not the intent at all.

**Carter:** You bailed on v-day. You bailed on my album release party. Now you’re going to bail on my bday party

**Salem:** I’m going to be in Russia.

**Carter:** For Bailey?

**Salem:** G2g

 

**Arsenal captaincy announcement shocker!**

Since Arsenal captain, Bakar Bengochea, announced his retirement at the end of the 2017-2018 season, rumours abounded of Arthur Bailey taking over. Despite his age, the twenty year old forward has been a massive playmaker and goal scorer for the football team with an abundance of leadership potential. In a press conference this week, however, Coach George “Brett” Henley announced that the captaincy would go, not to Bailey as expected, but to Mexican defender, Jorge Maldonado. “This was not a decision we took lightly,” Henley commented, “I can confirm we did seriously consider Arthur Bailey, but after several conversations, Bailey said he felt too young and inexperienced to lead the team at this time and would rather we gave it to someone who we felt could lead with the strength and wisdom that Bakar has.”

* * *

Salem cursed, glancing at the antique wall clock hanging above the door.  He pulled out his cell phone to double check and cursed again, springing off of the couch and reaching for his wallet and jacket.  He yanked it on as quickly as he could, bumping his hip into the arm of Carter’s vintage Victorian-era couch and vibrating the well worn wooden side table beside it and nearly knocking over a priceless Chinese vase holding several stalks of bamboo beside it.

“Don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall,” he whispered, holding his hands out like he could somehow magic his way to stilling the phase. Salem smirked as it stilled and steadied, shaking his head as he zipped up his jacket.

“Okay, I don’t actually have any cranberry juice, but I found some orange for your vodka, if you want that.”  Carter’s voice trailed off as he stepped into the living room and saw Salem with his coat on.  He pressed his lips together in a hard line and moved to put the two drinks down on the coffee table while Salem quickly and discreetly flicked open the app for Uber to order a cab. Carter cleared his throat, and Salem looked up guiltily to find the DJ with his arms crossed over his sculpted chest. “Do I even want to know?”

Salem sighed and ran a hand through his hair.  “Carter, I told you I had somewhere to be today. I just didn’t realize how late it was.”

“So, you were just going to run off…?”

“I would have called.”

“From the cab?”

Making a face, Salem nodded slowly and admitted, “Yeah…from the cab.”

“Tell me you can see how fucked up this is,” Carter pleaded.

Salem’s mobile chimed with the message that a car had picked up his order, and he glanced at the screen and saw that he had three minutes to get downstairs and outside to get into the taxi.  Tapping his thumb on the side of his phone, Salem shook his head.  “I have to go.”

“To see Bailey’s football game?”  Salem winced, and Carter smiled thinly and nodded.  “I’m not an idiot.”

“Bailey’s my best friend.”

“Bailey’s your _lover_ ,” Carter corrected sharply.

“We’re not sleeping together,” Salem informed Carter quickly, and Carter rolled his eyes at Salem’s response.  _I feel like this is déja vu. I swear I’ve done this before,_ Salem thought to himself.

“Anymore,” Carter insisted, and Salem shrugged a shoulder uncomfortably. “It doesn’t really matter anyway because whether or not you’re fucking him, he’s your _lover_.  You’re _in love_ with him, and no one else is ever going to come close.”  Salem shook his head, frustrated, while Carter kept going regardless. “I’m not under any illusions this was us dating.  This was just for fun, but it isn’t fun.  It’s a nightmare. We never spend any time together. You’re always running out to spare Bailey’s feelings.  We’ve never even had sex, Salem.  Something has change.”

Salem stared at Carter, really taking in his words before nodding slowly and asking carefully, “What if this is all I have to give?”

“It’s not enough for anyone.”  Carter shook his head and downed one of the glasses of vodka and orange juice before crossing the room at wrap Salem in a hug and press a linger, closed-mouth kiss to his lips.  “Have fun at your game, Salem. I’ll see you around, alright? But _this_? This is finished, though.”

Salem nodded slowly before stepping back and hurrying out of the flat.

Moving quickly, Salem didn’t bother to contemplate anything until he’d thrown himself into the backseat of the Uber car and was en route to the stadium.

That had been a much less dramatic ending to his relationship than when Spencer had broken up with him over lunch.  He might actually be able to salvage something that mildly resembled a friendship if waited it out and approached Carter later rather than sooner. There’d been no yelling. No betrayal…well, not as much as between him and Spencer.

Maybe it was time for Salem to take a break from dating, not that he’d been dating much before, but two relationships in the last two years in between periods of intensely unofficial monogamous sex encounters with Bailey—that seemed an awful lot like a relationship, not that he’d ever tell Bailey that—was kind of a lot.  It had been two years of extremes: happiness and contentment with Bailey that devolved into heartbreak when he realized that they weren’t what they could be—what they _should_ be—which translated into him going out with other people that crashed and burned spectacularly leaving him wallowing in sadness and guilt for about ten minutes before he and Bailey were naked in bed with a cock up an ass.

He was going to burn out sooner rather than later at that rate, and Salem wasn’t sure if he could handle what would happen if he and Bailey crashed and burned.

Once he’d felt that way about Georgia, in the haze of adolescent infatuation that had quickly burned into crushing depression and the overwhelming sense of utter betrayal that really only came from giving your first sexual experience to someone and have then toss all that trust back into your face without a care.

Charlie had been much the same with a tinge more maturity and a considerable amount of caution.  They’d met by pure chance not long after Georgia had ripped Salem’s heart to pieces and stomped all over it when Salem had been in his first semester of MIT and Charlie had been filming at Boston College in Newton.  They’d been hot and heavy quickly, intensely, passionately during the duration of Charlie’s time on location, and when he’d left, it had fizzled out quickly but with a lingering sense of affection, understanding, and camaraderie that had given way to their close and enduring friendship.

Bailey was an entirely different can of worms that made Salem terrified.

He’d been in love before, but he’d never been quite so involved, quite so intense, quite so dedicated.  This wasn’t the immature infatuation of young lovers in high school nor was it the rebound that made his head spin and his heart pound.  This was mature and real and rooted in friendship, sex, and intimacy that had nothing to do with the carnal.

The Uber driver cleared his throat, and Salem thanked him as he climbed out of the taxi, weaving through the thin throng of people still outside with only a few minutes left until kick-off.

When he got there, Kanani had already arrived, her foot bouncing up and down nervously while Catriona sat back in her seat with an amused expression as she popped sour Skittles.

“Have one too many Red Bulls?”  Salem asked as he slid into the seat beside her.

Kanani huffed out a breath as she whirled around to grip him in a tight hug. “You’re here.  Thank fuck.  I’m so nervous, I’m sweating bullets.”

“Don’t know why _you’re_ nervous,” Catriona spoke up.  “It’s not like _you’re_ playing.”

“God help me, Cat.  I might actually fucking strangling you,” Kanani remarked while Catriona offered her a lazy grin, wiggling her eyebrows at her girlfriend.  She was ignored as Kanani turned back to face an amused Salem. She curled the end of her ponytail around her finger and tilted her head to the side with a lazy smile. “I always get like this the last game of the season.”

“It’s probably best you’ll be working for the World Cup then,” Salem remarked while Catriona nodded furiously from the other side of Kanani, eyes wide and lips pursed, their edges curled with the slightest evidence of amusement. “What’s the occasion, then?”

Kanani held her hands up with a smile.  “Well…I’m guest starring on _America’s Next Top Model_ , which is going to be _amazing_.” Catriona crossed her eyes, and Salem hid his laughter behind his hands, but Kanani caught it anyway, glancing back at Catriona and sticking her tongue out.  “And then I’m staying on, because Cat’s going to be a guest fashion photog this season as well.”

“I didn’t realize you were into that, Cat.”

Catriona rolled her eyes and looked at Salem.  “I had Tyra Banks calling me nonstop, then she got Kanani onto her side and had her pestering me.  My book agent went ‘it’d be going publicity for you’ like I _need_ any of that.  But then Kanani called my _mum_ who _loves_ that show, and I couldn’t say no with my mum rambling in my ear about how good it would see me getting work.”

Salem frowned slightly, half-smiling as he cocked his head at Catriona who nodded and waved a hand dismissively.  Catriona was to fashion what Max was to sports.  And Salem whose knowledge and interest in fashion resided in the negatives even appreciated some of Catriona’s more artful shots.

Catriona got work.  Lots of it.

“Then I’m onto a show for this adorable up-and-coming designer in Tulsa, starring in a music video in LA, I have a weeklong photoshoot for Vogue Italia in Rome.  Cat’s meeting me in Hawaii to shoot designer swimsuits for Filles a Papa.  I don’t know,” Kanani waved a hand dismissively. I have a fucking lot going on. It’s out of control.” Catriona’s lips curved up in a smile as she eyed her girlfriend with a sappy expression.  Kanani snapped her fingers and turned back to Salem suddenly as the players began to come out onto the field.  “Has Georgia brought up possibly getting a raise?”

Salem’s eyebrows rose as he turned back to the Hawaiian model looking at him with a sincere expression; he glanced at Catriona, but she was too absorbed watching the field to pay any attention to their conversation. “She’s mentioned it a few times, but it’s not a possibility.”

“Fiscally?” Kanani asked in surprise.

“Emotionally. She doesn’t even do what she’s _already_ paid to. Our receptionist is ready to skin her alive because she’s taking appointments for me half the day. I can’t justify giving her a raise. Why?”

Kanani shrugged, her eyes drifting back to the field as she played with the pendant around her neck anxiously.  “Nothing…I mean, she’s not making rent.  It’s not a big deal,” Kanani rushed in quickly.  “Between Cat and I, we can more than make up the rent, but I just wondered. She’s a sweet girl. I just want to see her succeed.”

_That_ Catriona heard, tilting her head back to peer at Kanani doubtfully as she put on her Aviators with an eye roll.

Salem more than understood Catriona’s reaction, unable to refrain himself from saying, “Georgia _Hanson_?”

“Just because she’s promiscuous doesn’t mean she isn’t a sweet girl deserving of some good things to come her way, Salem,” Kanani expressed with a disappointed look.

“I’m not like _slut-shaming_ her. I just honestly don’t understand how you think _Georgia Hanson_ is a sweet girl.  This is a girl who ran away from home after breaking up her parent’s marriage and totally backstabbing all of her friends, cheated on her boyfriend the whole time they were dating in high school, hasn’t called her _dying father_ in four years, and is probably the most self bitch I’ve ever met. I’m just super confused.”

Taken aback, Kanani hedged carefully, “She’s _your_ friend.”

“Yeah,” Salem nodded, “because I can’t shake her.  Because we have a whole host of mutual acquaintances who, by no fault of their own, keeping drawing me back into her timeless personal dramas.”

He made a face when he recognized that his voice had become dangerous sharp and not the slightest bit bitter.  Catriona lowered her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose while Kanani’s sculpted eyebrows rose, a hand on her chest in alarm.

It was Catriona who purred, “And just who was this boyfriend she fucked over in high school?”

Salem pointed a finger at her.  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.  Aren’t we here to watch a game?”

“ _I_ ,” Catriona said, pointing a finger to herself theatrically without taking her eyes off of the field, “am.”

Kanani huffed but sat back in her seat, eyes on the field. She snagged the Skittles out of her girlfriend’s hand, making Catriona smirk smugly without saying word.

His gaze raked over the field almost immediately spotting Bailey sprinting up the field at a pace that seemed almost lazy for him until Rafa stole a ball of the opposing team’s player and passed it to Bakar who appeared seemingly out of nowhere and hurried up the field.  Without the slightest hesitation, Bailey moved, rushing up the field at the same quick pace as Bakar but just ahead of him, ducking around defenders and managing to be in place for a powerful kick as Bakar passed to him.

The goalkeeper moved swiftly to slap the ball away and out of bounds, and even from across the stadium Salem could picture Bailey’s face at that: grudgingly impressed with his nose scrunched and lips pursed together in a light grimace.  He put his hands on his hips and drifted towards Bakar, nodding at something he said as they moved into position.

Kanani looked over at him, and Salem raised his eyebrows at her in wordless invitation to ask her question.  “Did you take off for Russia?”

“Of course.”

“Is that a good idea?”  Kanani asked worriedly.

Salem turned to look at her with a wry expression on his face. “Are you worried that they’re going to beat me in the streets or arrest me for homosexuality? Because I’ll be ruthlessly honest: I’ve got too much money and notoriety for that to happen.”

Her lips thinned as she tossed a lock of hair over her shoulder. “I was actually referring to your job. You know, owning a company?”

“It’s cute that you’re worried about my financials.  I’ve got it handled.  I’ve kicked the kids into shape so they can actually manipulate an equation without breaking into hives or telling me what I want is impossible. Nihal and Regulus are annoyingly on top of expansion.  Dane’s doing whatever Dane does with his overpaid art major graduates.  And Harley will physically wrestle finances under control with sheer force of personality.  I can take a couple months off to watch Bailey play in the World Cup.”

“You’d go anyway,” Kanani whispered conspiratorially with a knowing smile playing across her lips as Salem slid his eyes over towards her. “Because Bailey.”

Salem scowled but didn’t disagree, because, yeah, _Bailey._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's like half passed midnight, and I just finished writing one of the most emotional scenes I've ever written aside from when I shot one of my favourite characters (not this story, nobody panic) but the emotional scene is for this story...eventually. And I have your Wednesday chapter super early.
> 
> This is obviously due to me marathoning three historical fiction films in a row (Belle, A Little Chaos, and The Scandalous Lady W). I seriously recommend all three.
> 
> So behold, a little more background on Charlie and Georgia and when each of those relationships took place (okay, confession I'm intentionally vague about Charlie because when I get around to writing about him and Patrick I need to have wiggle room in the timeline to get shit done). And Carter is gone, gobert got everything she's been asking for in one chapter. The other thing is coming. I got you. (Spoiler alert: Friday might be d-day)
> 
> Good night everyone. I am now actually going to sleep.


	37. "Together" by Ella Eyre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dinner in Russia with Salem's grandmother and the eldest portion of the Bailey clan...and Max and Michi because why not?

To: theghostsofsalem@gmail.com

From: harleen.bhattal@daiki.co.uk

Subject: You lucky swine

We’ve got everything sorted out for your extended trip abroad.  We might need you for some conference calls, but you wouldn’t be able to function without wifi so I trust you’ll be available if need be. We’ll give you ample notice, though. There’s an appointment scheduled for you to meet about product distribution in Moscow, and that’s on your itinerary. Don’t worry about the opening, Nihal, Dane, and Reg have everything under control, and the realtor is confident in it going through.

Have fun in Russia (if that’s possible)

Harleen Bhattal

CFO, The Daiki Company

 

**Text message to Salem**

**Michi:** Guess who’s going to visit you in Russia?

 **Salem:** Max….? :D

 **Michi:** Just for that I’m staying with your babushka.

 **Salem:** Look who knows how to use Google translate

 **Salem:** Are we pretending you weren’t going to do that anyway?

 

To: kingarthurb@gmail.co.uk

From: jameschristopher@gmail.co.uk

Subject: The World Cup

I just wanted to let you know that the guy you claim you aren’t dating sent my family tickets to see some of your games in the group stage matches. I would love the catch to see you play, I haven’t since we were both in school, but if you don’t want to, I’ll understand.

Jamie

 

**Roy Hodgson say England’s ready to win**

With only days to go until the opening ceremony of the 2018 World Cup, England’s head coach, Roy Hodgson, says he believes the national team is ready and prepared to win the cup. In the 2014, the team failed to make it to the knockout stage matches, losing two of its group stage matches and tying its final. Many people have their hope riding on Arsenal star forward, Arthur Bailey, who held lead the English football team to victory in the 2016 Olympics after a 104 year long drought.  Captained by Manchester United’s Wayne Rooney and vice captained by Chelsea’s Gary Cahill, the English national team does seem ready to win. The team plays its first game June 16 at Kazan Arena at 17:00 as part of Group C against Chile.

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

Guess who I found in Russia @prettyboyBas?

 

**Sebastian Bonfils (@prettyboyBas)**

@Salem_Daiki I knew you’d stolen my boy @FatherMax #thief #rude #wanthimback

* * *

“ _Privet babushka!_ ” Salem grinned, reaching out to embrace the wizened old woman with jade green eyes that reminded Bailey of his best friend’s mother.  She had wispy grey and blonde hair, a pinched expression, and a flask of vodka hanging from her hip like she was a college frat boy instead of the widowed maternal head of a family.  In a long, hippie skirt that that shifted around her ankles and a cardigan, the woman appeared matronly enough, but Bailey had met both her daughter and her grandchild, which meant he instinctively knew better. The woman kissed both her grandson’s cheeks with a loving smile, patting it gently as she pulled away. “ _Kak dela?_ ”

Katarina Petrovna shrugged with a jovial smile, “ _Spasiba, khorosho_. It’s nice to see you’re still keeping up with your mother tongue.”

Salem glanced over at Bailey with a confused half-smile before looking back to his grandmother. “My mother tongue is English, _babushka_.”

Katarina grunted as Kimura Michi appeared from behind the old woman with a broad smirk on his flawless face.  “What about me?”

Tossing him a bored look, Salem waived a dismissive hand.  “ _Kon’nichiwa ani_. It’s lovely to see you.”

“Lovely for someone,” Katarina rolled her eyes, voice gruff, as she made her way towards Bailey who gaped at her wide-eyed, his eyes darting to Salem who only watched the exchanged, bemused, from his half-brother’s side.  Katarina snapped in Bailey’s face, and he startled and turned his attention back to the woman.  “So this is the _mal’chik_ , hm?”

The question wasn’t for him so Bailey didn’t answer.

Salem snorted from behind her and nodded once.  “ _Da, babushka._ ”

“ _On krasivyy_ ,” Katarina remarked, patting Bailey’s cheek before brushing passed him in a clear sign of dismissal.  He just didn’t know whether to take it as a good sign or a bad one.

Michi barked out a laugh and nodded, “Absolutely, yes, Katya.  Agreed.”

Bailey gave him a disbelieving as Salem shook his head and followed his grandmother. “Since when do you speak Russian?”

“I do not, but I think Katya was pretty clear,” Michi answered, tossing an arm around Bailey’s shoulders as he tugged him into the restaurant.

His first rest day since series had started fifteen days ago, and it was absolutely more stressful than anything else had been thus far.  They’d played Chile, Greece, and Nigeria, narrowly winning each of their matches, but the absolute and intense pressure from home didn’t remotely compare to the anxiety he’d felt since Michi had casually mentioned that Katya wanted to sit down and meet ‘that footballer that had her grandson so enamored.’

The words had been said outside of Salem’s range of hearing when he’d been engaging most of the English national team in an intense game of Star Wars trivia when everyone had been high off of their first win against Chile and drinks had been flowing relatively freely.  Carey had been propped up on the lacquered counter of the bar despite the poisonous glares being shot his way by the rail thin, bleached blonde slip of a bartender. Max sat beside him, sipping the strong Russian vodka from a glass while he flicked absently through all the photos he’d taken earlier that day, every now and then tossing Salem a bemused look.

It had been Bailey who’d mentioned it to Salem, though after their second game against Nigeria when he’d been toweling off his hair after stepping out of the shower to find Salem sitting cross-legged on a bench in the team locker room testing holographic tech absentmindedly while the rest of the team had stopped what they were doing to watch the spotty, shaky play back of their game float in midair while Salem snapped at his kid-techs impatiently over the phone.

Katya, who had moved back to Russia shortly after her husband’s death just after Salem had started MIT and settled not far from her birth place in Bor in Nizhny Novgorod along the Oka River, had decided to bring her grandson, his half-brother, Max, Bailey, and Bailey’s family to her favorite lunch spot, just a block from the river at Pyatkin, a dinky but charming little seafoam green building that looked like it had been built sometime in the 19th century with classic yet subdued décor to match.  It also had a scarily Russian menu, all caviar and fish that made Bailey’s lip curve up and his stomach curl nervously.

Salem’s grandmother sat regally at the head of an antique table in an ornately carved wooden chair, sipping a glass of wine and chatting amicably with a smiley Max as Salem spooned caviar onto her plate.  Bailey hesitated beside the table, wringing his hands nervously until Salem looked up and met his eyes, lips curving upwards into a soft smile as he nodded once for Bailey to sit beside him.

Warmth bloomed in him, and he bowed his head to hide a soft smile as he made his way over to sit beside him.

“Try caviar, Artur,” Katya offered in her thick accent, nodding at the bowl in the center of the table. “Is good.”

Salem rolled his eyes at his grandmother while Max tossed her a subdued look. “Katya,” Michi huffed out a warning as he slid into the seat beside Max.

“Stop pretending you aren’t impeccable at English, _babushka_. You lived in San Francisco for—what?—a hundred years.”

“You talk too much, Kostya.”   Katya waved a dismissive hand before catching Bailey’s gaze and pointing purposefully at the caviar in the center of the table.  “Some samovar too. Or vodka.  You play football so, vodka.”

“No,” Salem cut in abruptly while Max shook his head and smiled wryly, “You should have some caviar. She’s usually stingy with it so she’s paying you a high compliment.”

“You boys act like I’m so mean. I’ve liked almost all Salem’s… _lyubiteli_ …except the first one. The…uh…” Katya waved a hand jerkily, “ _narushennyy_ one.”

Salem’s eyes went wide as he whipped his head around to face his grandmother looking stricken but not disagreeable.  “I think it’s déclassé to call transsexuals ‘disturbed,’ _babushka_.”

Katya waved a hand dismissively, grabbing Max’s arm to study his watch through narrowed, rheumy eyes so similar to the ones Bailey loved.  “Where is the rest of this…this?”

Bailey pursed his lips and shrugged brusquely, apprehensively, and turned back to Salem. He squeezed the back of his neck nervously and pressed his forehead to Salem’s shoulder.  Murmuring quietly, Bailey asked in a whisper just low enough for Salem’s ears, “Is it too late to uninvite my brother?”

“Yeah, yeah it is,” Salem muttered back lowly, pressing his cheek to Bailey’s head and patting his cheek affectionately.  “Play nice. I know you have this innate idea of what politicians are and should be, but I think your brother actually wants to try with you.  Maybe you should let him.”

“Family is important,” Michi added, nodding sagely.

Max laughed, and Katya made a sound of disgust, slapping her open palm on the tabletop and pointing a finger at Michi who beamed angelically in response.  “What you mean?  How would you know? You’re always with mine.”

“Are you saying I’m not family to you, Katya?  That’s rude.”

Bailey felt his lips quirk into a smile as he shifted to rest his chin on Salem’s shoulder, lips just brushing the cartilage of ear as he asked, “Are you sure I can’t have some vodka?”

Smiling broadly, Salem shook his head.

Katya gave Michi a mild, toothy smile that seemed almost feral.  “Max is like family to me.  Family of choice.”

“Was it choice?” Max replied, eyebrows drawing together. “Being friends with Salem doesn’t really seem like a _choice_.”

“Really?” Salem snapped without any real heat while Max gave him a cheeky grin.  Katya patted Max’s hand reassuringly.

Her head snapped up, gaze locked, before anyone else had even realized Rhiannon and James had arrived. Instead of a charming smile and an attempt at friendliness, Katya leaned back in her seat, wineglass dangling from her fingertips as she watched Bailey’s family approach with a studious air, evaluating them.

James and Rhiannon appeared more casual than Bailey had seen them since childhood but considerably more dressed up than everyone else at the table.  Michi was a cross between a j-pop starlet and an anime character with the half-stuck up bleached head to match; Max, as per usual, held the kind of jeans and sweater simplicity that made him timelessly beautiful; Salem had opted for loud acid wash skinny jeans and a black holey sweater, his red, white, and blue nationalistic locks tied up in a ponytail. It was no wonder that Bailey tended to dress so outrageously fancy with his family, in black slacks that clung to his legs, an England jumper, and a blazer.

In a Burberry sundress, pearls, and red Valentino high heels, Rhiannon looked the picture of demure perfection, and James wasn’t much better in a Vivenne Westwood, checkered suit trousers, a shirt, and a matching blazer with a pocket square even.

“ _Fantaziya,_ ” Katya remarked, eyeing them through pursed lips.

Bailey might not know Russian, but from her tone and the accompanied look, Bailey knew enough to get by. Salem nudged him, and Bailey remembered his manners, rising to his feet with Salem behind him and moving to greet his brother.

“Jamie,” Bailey nodded, pressing a kiss to Rhiannon’s cheek.  “Rhi.”

James nodded and shook Salem’s hand stoically, but a single wide, boyish smile at Rhiannon had the woman melting like an ice cube in the Sahara at midday in the pinnacle of the summer season.  Irritating that almost everyone melted like that for Salem.

Bailey turned back to the table, most of who had risen in greeting beside Katya who still sat like a queen before he subjects at the head of the table.  “Jamie, Rhi, this is Salem’s brother, Michi,” the Japanese popstar gave a finger wave awkwardly, “his friend, Max Priest, and his grandmother, Katarina Petrovna.”  James grabbed Rhiannon’s hand and swallowed as he nodded politely at Katya who only blinked without otherwise acknowledging the gesture.  “Katya,” she nodded once, regally.  It was an absolute shame that woman hadn’t been born into royalty; she’d missed her calling, truly.  “This is my brother, James Bailey, and his wife Rhiannon.  Apparently they left my favorite family members at home.”

“You hate kids,” Max, Salem, and James spoke at the same time.

Bailey made a face and plopped down in his seat, finished with introductions and his loved ones. Salem laughed, running a hand along the back of Bailey’s neck comfortingly as he sat down.  James hesitantly sat down beside him with Rhiannon across the table, hands folded in her lap and a distinctly uncomfortable look in her eyes.

“So,” James clear his throat anxiously, “you’ve been playing well.  We’ve all been watching your games.”

“You could have come,” Bailey blurted.  He cleared his throat and shrugged self-consciously.  “If you’d wanted to.”  To cover his discomfort, Bailey grabbed the menu and opened it before pausing and glancing over to Salem with a frown.  “This is in Russian.”

Salem laughed. “Yes.”

“I can’t read Russian.”

“Just get this,” Salem answered, pointing to an indecipherable item on the menu.  “It’s beef stroganoff.  You’ve had it before.  We’ve made it together before.”

“Yeah?”

“Promise.” Bailey nodded cautiously while Salem tilted his head and nudged him, “And try my grandmother’s caviar. With…one glass of vodka.”

Bailey bit his lip and smiled.

James picked up on the tail end of the conversation.  “Is my brother still a terrible lightweight?”

“Oh my God, the worst,” Salem devolved into laughter.

Katya’s lips thinned. “Not good.  We’ll have to change that.”  The waiter appeared out of thin air, and before anyone could breathe a word, Katya started speaking in rapid fire Russian.  Max and Michi exchanged a confused look but seemed to no better than to disagree with the formidable woman.  Salem interjected halfway through; nodding towards Bailey while Katya waved a dismissive hand in their direction but seemed to repeat what he’d said. She finished and looked to James and Rhiannon.  “ _Vy govorite russkiy, da_?”

Rhiannon looked around, coloring when she realized Katya _had_ been talking to her.  “ _Da_ ,” she tripped over her tongue and looked to James before ordering for both of them.

With a terse nod and a farewell, the waiter left.  Katya turned back to James and Rhiannon, resting her chin on her propped up hand with a smile so benign it seemed threatening.  Bailey shrank back in his seat and out of her sightline, and Salem rested a hand on his thigh as she began.  “Yes, yes, I’ve seen Bailey playing.  Is good. Very good.”  Max, Michi, and Salem rolled their eyes at her slip back into the ‘old country’ accent.  Bailey popped a small piece of caviar and bread into his mouth, wincing at the taste instead. “He scores goals, runs up and down a field, no fake injury like some of the _kiski_ on field.”

“ _Babushka,_ ” Salem hissed while Rhiannon gaped and James sipped his wine with a serene expression.

“What do _you_ do?  Are you as slimy as that father and mother of yours?”

“Katya!” Max exclaimed while James and Michi choked on their drinks.  Bailey couldn’t disagree.  “The woman has cancer.”

Katya shrugged while Salem just blinked at her in an epiphany.  “Did you _research_ Bailey’s _parents_?”

“You’re not the only one who can use the Internet.”

Salem threw his hands up and tilted his head towards Bailey, murmuring, “It’s like I don’t even know her anymore.”

“That’s what happens when you don’t visit your _babushka_ in three years.”  Salem flinched, and Katya smirked while Bailey held his breath, looking between the two of them. “I’m old, Konstantin, not deaf.” He grimaced but nodded with an apologetic look as Katya turned back to James and Rhiannon.

“I…” James cleared his throat nervously, “no.  I…Rhiannon’s an activist.  She works civil rights issues with the UN.  I transferred over to get out of party politics as an ambassador.”

Katya made a face, “Politicians.  I’m Russian. We don’t like that.”

“Here we go,” Salem mumbled.

“I think that ideology’s a little dated, Katya.”

“And then St. Petersburg happened,” Katya returned, and Max made a face but didn’t disagree with that. “Why you don’t come to see your brother play?  You come to see him play Belgium?”

James cleared his throat and glanced over at Bailey apprehensively while the rest of the table fell silent.

Without even looking, Bailey could fell James’s eyes shift to him.  Salem rubbed Bailey’s thigh soothingly, and Bailey dropped his hand to entwine his fingers with Salem’s and squeezed them, taking comfort in the gesture and his presence.  “It wouldn’t hurt.”

Head whipping around, he could picture James’s surprised expression.  “Do you mean that?”

“Can we not do this? I said it, didn’t I?”

Salem’s hand flipped over to catch his and squeeze it again, this time a clear warning as he muttered warningly, “Arthur.”

Bailey shifted and pursed his lips even as he gave a single terse nod.  Clearing his throat, Bailey turned to face his brother, hand still intertwined with Salem’s under the table, as the waiter appeared, starting to set their plates down.  Michi drummed his fingers together in anticipation and eyeing his pierogi excitedly. Fighting a smile, Bailey met his brother’s eyes and paused, surprised by the tenderness on his face and tears welling in his eyes.

“You look happy, Bailey,” James remarked softly.  “I haven’t seen you like this since…” He hesitated, searching for a time in Bailey’s life to compare to.  “Since that summer we spent at grandma and grandpa’s ranch in North Dakota.  It’s good.”

Bailey nodded slowly before admitting haltingly.  “We’re not…we’re never going to be close, Jamie.  There’s just too much there, but I think we try to not be quite so dysfunctional. I don’t hate you. You just remind me too much of…things I wish I could forget.”

James swallowed as he nodded, glancing back at Rhiannon who wore a look of outright patient and support, a partner.  He ran his thumb back and forth across the skin of Salem’s hand and leaned into him as James gritted his teeth and admitted, “Mum and dad fucked you up, but _they_ broke you, you weren’t already broken. And it’s time someone took responsibility for that, because God knows our parents won’t.”

Bailey’s eyes filled with tears, and he nodded and sniffled, blinking them back hastily and discreetly wiping them away with one hand.  “Should we eat?”

Katya cleared her throat and agreed quickly, everyone’s eyes averting as Bailey struggled to get himself together.  Everyone except Salem whose hand stayed in his supporting him in away no ever had before, and he doubted anyone would ever be quite able to again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Samovar is a device used to boil hot water for tea. This restaurant is real, is actually in the place where I said it was, and does actually serve samovar, alcohol, caviar, and beef stroganoff. Naturally, I checked.
> 
> Jamie isn't as big of an asshole as it seemed like he was going to be, which was one of those things that wrote itself. I'd intended for him to be, but he decided to be a decent human being. Probably for the best, Bailey's whole family can't be asshole. I mean, they could but that would just be mean.
> 
> The amount of researched I did on the 2018 Russian World Cup is disgusting. I officially know every stadium location, when their breaks are, and how the rounds are structured. I need to find a job where someone pays me to research useless information like this because I'm damn good at it.


	38. "Love Me Harder" by Ariana Grande & The Weeknd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Salem and Bailey finally have the relationship talk, also: the World Cup

**Carey Ahearn (@carey_me_home)**

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh we’re going to the finals!!!!!! #englandnationalteam #2018fifaworldcup

 

**Text message to Bailey**

**Jamie:** I’m glad we got to see you play and you got to meet the kids

 **Jamie:** Good luck in the finals, Artie, and say thanks to Bailey for me

 **Artie:** 4 what

 **Jamie:** Giving Alice and Topher his tablets

 **Artie:** Come again?

 **Jamie:** …did he not tell you about that?

 **Artie:** son of a bitch

 

**Cameron Cunningham (@Cam76Tex)**

@T_48_Beauvais and I are ready to watch you win it @ArthurBailey #yougotthiscoach #2018fifaworldcup #bestwishes

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

@Cam76Tex don’t you have homework you should be doing? @T_48_Beauvais is actually good so I assume he’s finished

 

**Harper Cunningham (@HarperLAXtex)**

@ArthurBailey yes he does. Don’t lie @Cam76Tex. Your teacher emailed me

 

**Cameron Cunningham (@Cam76Tex)**

@HarperLAXtex @ArthurBailey watching fifa’s educational for a budding footballer #saysomething #idareyoumother

 

**Text message to Salem**

**Charlie:** How’s Russia?

 **Salem:** Good…

 **Charlie:** Im going to go ahead and assume ur both still being idiots

 **Salem:** I’m going to be super nice and not talk about hypocrisy

 **Charlie:** STOP TRYING TO PICK A FIGHT WITH ME AND FUCKING DATE THE SHIT OUT OF THE BOY FOR FUCKS SAKE

 **Salem:** O.O yoooooo shouty caps!

 

**Group MMS between Max, Salem, Michi, and Bailey**

**Salem:** So you do have those pics?

 **Max:** R u still talking? Ur not getting them.

 **Michi:** Cuz boy’s super professional.

 **Max:** Exactly. Arigato Michi

 **Bailey:** If u wntd a pic of me naked and sweaty there r easier ways than harassment

 **Salem:** (｡♥‿♥｡)

 **Michi:** Omfg stop flirting where everyone can see T.T

* * *

Bailey had his hands on his hips, chest heaving, sweat sticking against his skin and becoming clammy as the wind cooled. He ran hand through his hair as his eyes raked over the field, looking for anything to help propel this game forward, anything to help force a play, but the Mexicans had completely locked down the field, leaving nothing to chance and not allowing for anything develop enough to make a difference.

Frustration laced through him as he glanced back at their goalkeeper, gnawing on his bottom lip with worried eyes, and peered around at the arena at the hyped up Mexican football fans and the silent English ones.

It wasn’t over yet.  Not really, but with five minutes left in the game, a tie, and with Mexico dominating offensive play and hammering goal after goal at their exhausted goalkeeper, it was inevitable they’d score soon with no time or ability for England to respond.

 _Unacceptable,_ Bailey thought to himself, shaking his head as he gritted his teeth.  After taking out Brazil in the semi-finals and Russia on their home turf in front of a crowd half-ready to riot, he couldn’t believe they were going to lose by being strangled and hopelessly outplayed by the Mexicans.

Bailey cocked his head, eyes narrowed as he took in their fullback, Simon Peterborough, making a face as he warily eyed the Mexican forward taking position for a throw in.

Pausing, Bailey’s mouth dropped open as an idea occurred to him. He snagged the nearest midfielder, tugging him closer while Neal’s eyebrows rose, though he didn’t object, simply tilting his head Bailey’s way with amusement and frustration written across his face in equal measure.

“I have an idea,” Bailey remarked, “but it’s crazy. I don’t even know if it’s legal, and someone needs to make sure we stay on-sides.”

“Might as well try it,” Neal replied.  “It’s not like we’re getting a lot of traction anyway.”

“Good, I want to get the ball to Simon and have him run it down field to the net while I stay here.”

Neal’s head whipped around to face him.  “Come again?”

“It’ll only work if most of the forwards and stay here, and the midfielders don’t really try anything,” another midfielder said lowly, coming up behind him, eyes on the play.  “They’re covering us really well, but they’re not expecting our defense.”

“Can it work?” Neal inquired.

“Nothing else is,” Bailey replied.

Which is how fifteen minutes later, Bailey was laughing as a disbelieving Neal ran a hand through his hair, shock written on his face as he turned to Bailey admit deafening screams from the crowd.  “I can’t believe that worked.”

Bailey laughed and shook his head, a broad grin stretching across his face as he replied without the slightest hesitation, “I can’t either.”

Neal flicked him, “Twat.”  He ran his fingers through his hair, a little breathless as he said, “Oh my God.”

And it really it _was_ that unbelievable that a spur-of-the-moment, unconventional play had won them the World Cup. With a well-placed slap away from the goal post by their goalkeeper, a header from Bailey, some excellent juggling around one of Mexico’s midfielders to send a spectacular pass up the field and right to an unexpected Simon who was definitely not where he was supposed to be while almost the entire band of England’s forwards stayed behind in their end while the defenders ran the ball down the field in a twist that had left Mexico both befuddled and furious, leaving just enough room for Rooney to slip through their tight lines to put it in the back of the net after a pass from Simon.

They’d won the World Cup.

England had won the World Cup.

Bailey grinned and accepted the hug Carey offered him when they met amidst the crowd of hysterical English footballers congregated in the center of the field amid earsplitting roars from the crowd, and he was still smiling when he stepped into the locker room, sweaty, exhausted, but thrilled, to find Salem waiting for him with his hands in the pocket of Bailey’s England team track jacket, his hair falling around his face and a proud smile on his lips.

Tears leaked out of the corner of his eyes as he hurled himself into Salem’s arms, for once completely disregarding the people around him and what they might think.  He pressed his face into Salem’s neck.  “We won the World Cup.”

“You seem more excited than when you won the Olympics.”

“Okay, but this is the FIFA World Cup,” Bailey remarked, pulling back and biting his lip as if that could stifle the way he knew he was positively glowing.

Salem put a hand on his cheek, and Bailey just managed to resist his instinctive urge to nuzzle against it like a cat.  His smile fell, and he blinked back tears, the happiness in him overwhelming. “You did amazing, Bailey. Congratulations.”

“I just can’t believe we won,” he laughed wetly before admitting, “I didn’t think we were going to.  I didn’t even think that would work.”

“You made it work,” Salem replied, tapping his thumb against Bailey’s cheekbone, his expression tender and voice soft.  “You always make it work.  That’s part of why I love you.”

Bailey’s breath caught, and he went still, shaking his head and blinking as the shock went through him.  “You…what?”

Salem cocked his head as he said quietly, “I’m in love with you, Bailey. And we need to talk about that soon, but right now, I think there’s someone who wants to see you.”

He shook his head again, wanting to press the issue further despite being in the middle of a crowded locker room, surrounded by his teammates and the coaching staff and probably a fair few members of the press. But a keen squeal from a voice he recognized had him snapping back into awareness, though he couldn’t quite shake warm feeling welling inside him or the sense of wondrous detachment, as he caught Kanani in his arms as she appeared from behind Bailey.

“Oh my God, you won the World Cup!”

Bailey laughed and nodded.

Kanani drew back and wrinkled her nose.  “Oh my God, you stink.”

“I haven’t showered yet?”

Releasing him abruptly, Kanani stepped away from him and held her hands off like _she_ was warding _him_ off.  “Ew, don’t touch me.”

“What are you doing here?”  Bailey said with a smile, stepping passed her and pulling off his sweat-soaked jersey. He tightened his ponytail and glanced over his shoulder to look from Kanani, all wrinkled nose and smelling like Marc Jacobs’s Daisy in the midst of smelly, sweat footballers, to Salem whose eyes trailed over him with unmistakable heat.  Bailey flushed and looked away quickly before Salem’s own hunger gave rose to his in the entirely wrong place for that. “I thought you were supposed to be in Lisbon doing a spread for Love.”

Kanani scowled at him.  “Seriously? Like I’d miss my best friend playing in the World Cup finals.”

“Did you bring Cat too?”

“No, it was short notice so we couldn’t find a dogsitter for Edward. She’s not very happy with me about that,” Kanani remarked with pursed lips.

Salem nodded, “I can imagine.”  Kanani swatted him.  Salem frowned and cocked his head as he turned to face Kanani.  “What do you mean you don’t have a dogsitter?  I know Georgia’s a nightmare, but I really don’t think she’d let Edward starve.”

“She’s a little absentminded.  Cat doesn’t trust her to water plants let alone care for our puppy.”

“Not to be rude,” Carey remarked as he came up behind Kanani and Salem, shirtless and beaming, “but I’ve been told to kick you out. We have a press conference in ten, and he’s neither dressed nor showered, and Mr ‘I Have A Crazy Idea’ does actually have to be there this time.”

Bailey pulled a long-suffering face.  “I didn’t even score this game.  Why do I have to go?”

“Because,” Neal remarked as he walked passed, buck naked, on his way into the shower, “if you hadn’t come with some movie moment, acid trip, hair-brained scheme we’d be giving a press conference to a depressed, disappointed crowd of reporters about how despite all the hype we’d been getting in the media we managed to be hopelessly outplayed by Mexico.”

“We’ll still have to answer that because we were hopelessly outplayed by Mexico. We literally won by the skin of our teeth.”

Neal sighed and made a dramatic disappointed face while Carey shook his head at Bailey.  Salem huffed out a laugh and squeezed Bailey’s upper arm in a way that seemed platonic except for how it had all Bailey’s nerves set on edge, his focus concentrated, and his body aflame, at last partly from Bailey’s remaining adrenaline, partly due to his seven months celibacy when he’d been waiting for Salem to stop going on lunch dates and nights out with Carter in Camden and come home to curl up with him to watch shitty reality television before spending the whole night pounding him into their mattress, and partly because Salem loved him, which he might have known theoretically, but it had changed something, affirmed something, provided some much needed clarity and understanding by saying aloud.

Bailey wanted Salem in all the ways that he could have him—in his home, his bed, bitching about his computer while he went through it to check and recheck firewalls, and in every aspect of his life Salem wanted to invade—and he wanted him now.

“Bailey,” Salem said lowly, and Bailey cleared his throat as he nodded tersely. “We’ll meet you after at Soho Rooms tonight after you handle media, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bailey nodded, letting Carey guide him away.

 

By ten o’clock, Bailey sat on one of Soho Room’s plush velvet sofa with a glass of straight vodka that he’d taken barely three sips out of in hand between Neal and Carey, practically vibrating with impatient energy.  The music pumped loudly through the stereos, and the whole room seemed to pulsate with the beat of the drums.

The media scrum might have been semi-positive (Bailey hadn’t been wrong about them questioning the overall pace of the game), but it had been long-winded, time-consuming, and tedious when all Bailey wanted to do was get to Salem either to fuck him or to have a decent conversation about them fucking each other alone for the foreseeable future.  Keyed up as he was, he’d still take either. On the up side, Max had been there taking photos and had kindly spent half the time making funny faces at Carey and Bailey to get them to lighten up and promptly snapping pictures when they’d burst into spontaneous fits of laughter and quickly had to hide it.

Bailey adjusted his blazer for about the twelfth time as his glass was daintily lifted from his fingertips by Kanani and handed to Salem as she dropped into Bailey’s lap with a coy smile and a kiss on the cheek.  “Hey Bailey.”

“You’re late,” Bailey bit out tersely, his eyes on Salem who looked positively delicious in a pair of ripped black jeans that looked painted on and a completely sheer long-sleeved top that put his numerous, prominent collection of colorful tattoos on display.  His tri-colored hair was artfully mussed with his lip, eyebrow, and nipple piercings in.

Salem quirked an eyebrow and dropped Salem’s vodka all in one go, handing Bailey a tumbler full of amber liquid.

“Do they _serve_ beer here?”

Salem laughed, “That’s Grand Marnier.”

Bailey pressed his lips together and nodded, taking the tumbler from his hand warily, careful not to dislodge Kanani from his lap.  He took a sip of it and coughed as it burned his throat and made his eyes water.  “You sure this isn’t brown vodka?”

“It’s 40% alcohol.”

Kanani huffed out a laugh and tilted her head up with the seductive smile that Kanani seemed to have perfected specifically for club night outs. “Are you trying to kill him?”

Half-shrugging, Salem met Bailey’s expectant gaze and nodded once, realizing he hadn’t let go of his original accusation and clearly wanted an answer. “It was Kanani’s fault. She insisted she didn’t have anything proper to wear, and I certainly couldn’t let her wander around GUM on her own.”

“GUM?” Neal interjected curiously.

Salem nodded and dutifully elucidated: “Glavny Universalny Magazin. It’s a mall in Red Square.”

“Dior, Hermes, Louis Vuitton, Tiffany and Company,” Kanani gushed, throwing her back onto Bailey’s shoulder while he shifted and eyed her, exceedingly uncomfortable with the level of excitement she was expressing _in his lap_.  “I spent _so_ much money, but it was _so so_ worth it.”

Bailey took another swig of his liquor and nodded once, pointedly. “Right, I need to talk to Salem, if you’ll excuse me, Nani.”

Kanani hopped up with a grin, and Bailey realized her exuberance came from her being already mildly tipsy.  He set his glass on the table across from her as she sank back into the spot he’d vacated and leaned her head against Carey’s shoulder.  Salem eyed Bailey quietly; the lingering heat in his eyes making Bailey’s heart pound and his skin flushing in response to the intent barely hidden in his gaze.  Bailey licked his lips, unable to stop himself from dragging his gaze over Salem’s body in a way that was unambiguously sexual.

Neal choked and coughed while Kanani rolled her eyes, not moving from her where she was snuggled against Carey.  “Tell Michi to come my way if you see him, Sale.”

Meeting his eyes as Bailey’s hand grasped Salem’s arm and skimmed down it to grip his wrist firmly, Salem smirked, “We won’t.”

Bailey didn’t bother to say goodbye to his friends as he tugged Salem through the room, nodding at the half-drunken greeting from teammates, more focused on Salem’s heat pressed against his back.  He huffed out a breath and stumbled when Salem’s hand slipped beneath his shirt to brush against the skin of his hip.  Whirling around at the touch, Bailey’s gaze found the bathroom, and he shoved Salem into it, taking him by surprise.

Salem tripped over his feet and into the handicapped stall, making Bailey roll his eyes as he huffed affectionately.  Bailey paused in the doorway of the stall to look at the shrewd-eyed bathroom attendant.  “Is anyone else in here?”  Bailey asked him.

The man frowned, and Salem poked his head out of the stall to translate. His face cleared, “ _Nyet._ ”

Bailey nodded, “Would you mind if we just…” Despite knowing next to no English, the attendant raised his hands up and stalked out of the bathroom with an amused expression while Bailey to Salem, hands seeking his skin between the holes of Salem’s fishnet shirt as he pressed their bodies together, making them both moan.

Salem shook his head and cupped Bailey’s face.  “You want to have this talk _here_?”

“Fucking hell, Konstantin, where else?  There’s fucking reporters everywhere, and with you looking at me like you’re ten seconds away from devouring me I don’t we’d make it back to the hotel.” Everything Bailey _wanted_ to say, everything he _should_ say, everything they _needed_ to say went to the wayside when he met Salem’s jade eyes and said, “You love me.”

Kissing gently, Salem rested their foreheads together.  “I’ve always loved you, Arthur.  More than anything, than anyone.”

Bailey swallowed and rested his head on Salem’s shoulder as his arms came around Bailey’s body, holding them together tightly.  “I want to try this.  I want…you and us and…but I can’t…”

“I know,” Salem said.  Bailey shook his head, shifting to push against Salem’s chest, unwilling but determined to outline just what exactly that would mean.  Salem tightened his hold on Bailey and nodded with a sober, knowing grimace.  “No, Bailey, I’ve thought about this.  This isn’t spur of the moment.  I didn’t wake up yesterday and decide to give this a go.  I’ve been thinking about this for…” he gave an awkward laugh, “a _long_ time.  We…I was an idiot, and I was afraid, but I know what this is. And I know who you are. At the end of the day, you’re a soccer player—”

“It’s fucking _football_ , Salem,” Bailey bit out automatically, unable to hold that back even in the midst of a serious discussion.

Salem pressed his lips together unable to stifle his smile. “Sports is not a nice place for openly gay people, and I’m not saying this will be _easy_ , but I do think it’ll be worth it.”

“I’ve never done this before, Salem.”

“It’s not that different than what we were doing before, except this time I won’t start dating people without telling you and you won’t get in sex scandals with random psychos on the road,” Salem informed Bailey in a lighthearted, conspiratorial tone.

Bailey slapped his arm but didn’t move away from him as he laughed. He could feel his cock beginning to harden in his pants, but he scowled.  “I really want to fuck you so you need to take like ten steps away from me,” he said without moving away from Salem.

“That’s a new one.”

“Carter…” Bailey shook his head, trying and failing to clear it with Salem’s body under his hands and their groins rubbing against each other.

“We broke up two months ago,” Salem admitted, and Bailey glared at him even as one hand went around Salem’s neck, the other tugging the ring in Salem’s nipple. He nipped his lip as Salem released a strangled moan, hips jerking against Bailey’s.  “I didn’t want to distract you.”

“And you were chickenshit,” Bailey whispered, licking up Salem’s neck and tugging on Salem’s earlobe with his teeth as he ground their hard cocks together. “I’m not going to bitch about it right now, because I want you naked and on top of me so much that I’m about two seconds away from dropping two my knees to suck you off until we _both_ come, but I really don’t want to get caught in Russia with my mouth around your cock so…”

Brusquely, Salem pushed Bailey away from him and jolted to the sink, yanking the tap on with shaking hands and splashing water onto his face. He looked up at Bailey, pupils blown and erection undiminished.  “I’ll get a taxi.  Just stay…over…there…yeah?”

Bailey bit his bottom lip and hopped onto the counter beside Salem drawing his face in for a long, dirty kiss that hardly helped the situation. Both of them panting, Bailey breathed into Salem’s mouth, “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm such a sucker for happy sports endings in my story. Like I couldn't just have them lose to Mexico, not like Brazil did in the 2012 Olympics, which was just pathetic. Awful.
> 
> This is the part where I confess I don't know if that's legal, because it's been a million years since I played football (okay six) and my penchant for research draws the line at reading the FIFA rulebook. So if it's not, let's just pretend because it's not like this will actually happen anyway :)
> 
> The Soho Rooms are real, and it's a ridiculously beautiful club. I'd even go, and I hate clubs and clubbing and excessive numbers of people in one place drinking and being rowdy. Fact.
> 
> Here's your Friday chapter, and we're most likely going back to three times a week updates...or maybe not. I'm surprisingly up-to-date on the timeline I wanted to keep on completing this story so I might just continue every day. (I'm not sure yet).
> 
> There's still lots more drama to come, including some that came up completely by chance and contrary to what I'd been intending to write. I thought I was going easy on you Monday, but nope it seems I'm introducing trouble :O


	39. "Kiss with a Fist" by Florence + the Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flagship store opening. Irial. And drama.

**The Daiki Company to open flagship store in London**

The young consumer electronics company started by Konstantin Kimura-Petrov and several friends he met at university announced its intent to open a flagship retail store within the year in January, but only has just confirmed that the opening of the company’s first retail store would be located only minutes from the company’s offices in Piccadilly Circus, just off Regent’s street. The store will open Wednesday, August 1 starting at ten am. The store features three floors of space and will feature both a bar and up-and-coming DJ, Carter Skeet, who confirmed he was working on state-of-the-art mixing board and turntables for commercial sale with the enigmatic CEO and inventor. It’s not unexpected to see a whole host of celebrity attendees dropping in at some point during the day either.

 

**Text message to Salem**

**Мама:** I’d just like to be clear. You ARE dating?

 **Кост** **я** **:** Да мать.

 **Мама:** But you’re still living with that kid Craig?

 **Костя:** Technically…

 **Мама:** Don’t think we won’t address this when I come see you.

 

**Irial Dorian (@DorianII)**

I’m going! We’re going @Cherrie_TA. I want to go!!!!!!! @TheDaikiCo. #grandopening #giveittomenow

 

**Charles Beck (@CharlieBeck)**

@DorianII so @StPatty_ and I will see you there then :P

 

**Rosie Ireland (@rosieposie)**

Wait wait wait I want to come @DorianII thanks for inviting me

 

**Ariella Emerson (@Ariella_Em106)**

@DorianII @rosieposie @holdtheirish let’s all go! Roadtrip!

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

@DorianII @Charlie Beck @StPatty_ we should grab dinner afterwards.

 

**Cris Emerson (@Cris_Emerson)**

@DorianII are you still alive?

 

**Irial Dorian (@DorianII)**

@Cris_Emerson no! #floatsawayonacloud

 

**Text message to Georgia**

**Salem:** My mother and stepfather are going to be in attendance

 **Georgia:** I dont know if I feel comfortable going to this

 **Salem:** This isn’t a negotiation. This is the job.

 **Salem:** Also, a lot of celebs

 **Georgia:** Not gonna lie ur fam scares me more.

 

**Text message to Harry**

**Salem:** Are you coming to the thing?

 **Harry:** I’m organizing a massive coming out for a boybander

 **Salem:** \O/

 **Salem:** You seem a little stressed. Are you stressed? Is your girlfriend coming?

 **Harry:** omfg you’re as bad as Iri. We’re not dating. Yes, she’s going. I am abso-fucking-lutely stressed.

 **Salem:** Surely not cuz of money. I’m paying you a lot.

 **Harry:** This might be why you have such a hard time sustaining friendships.

 **Salem:** We can’t possibly be talking about me.

 **Salem:** Also we should go to Nicholson’s in Southwark when you come back.

 **Harry:** Aggressive befriending

 **Salem:** Bailey never complained :P

 **Harry:** I’m just going to leave that there.

 

**Alina Rosen (@AlinaAzadi)**

@DorianII @CharlieBeck I’ll be seeing you both there then.

 

**Maverick (@MaverickOfficial)**

@CharlieBeck everyone’s going. I feel like I should now #justmight #couldbefun

* * *

Salem’s tongue was inside Bailey’s ass coaking a number of absolutely delicious noises from his partner when Bailey’s alarm went off, and Salem pulled back, pupils blown and chest heaving as he frowned through his haze at the slim phone vibrating on the bedside table.

“What time is it?”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Bailey groaned even as he reached up to grab his mobile, flipping off the alarm and gancing as the screen before definitively dropping it on his chest.  “Nine.”

“Fuck, I’m late.”  Leaving Bailey sprawled on the bed and teetering on the edge, Salem ran to the closet where majority of his wardrobe had migrated to since long before they’d conclusively outlined their relationship.  He could feel Bailey’s eyes on him as dug through both the pile of lightly worn laundry tossed haphazardly around and the wall of pressed suit pants and blazers that cost about as much as Salem and Craig’s monthly rent.

“See, _this_ is why I didn’t want a relationship.  One minute we’re getting head in public bathrooms and having fantastic sex whenever the mods strikes, and the next we’re a sex-deprived picture of domesticity.”

Salem scoffed as he popped out of the closet with one of Bailey’s Burberry blazers and Topshop dress shirts balled up in his arms.  He quirked a disbelieving eyebrow at Bailey as he passed through the room, tossing the clothes onto the bed before turning to go through his stockpile of skinny jeans.  “First, I don’t remember either of us getting head in a public bathroom, you’d have a fucking connip—”

“Your company Halloween party,” Bailey commented lightly, sitting up to rest his back against the headboard, watching Salem heatedly but making no move to draw him back into bed the way they _both_ wanted him to.

He paused, opened his mouth to refute that statement before closing it resolutely.  “Okay…” Bailey smirked while Salem rolled his eyes and turned back to his search, “I…okay, right, sex-deprived my ass.  You almost got us arrested for public indecency in Moscow in the back of a fucking taxi. And on the plane _back_ from Moscow.  And on our layover in Munich.  And at the Science Museum _three days ago_.”

Bailey shrugged with a shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “Apparently the wonders of 3D printing gets me hot.”

“You’re going to get us in trouble.  Maybe I should deprive you.”

The expression that flitted across Bailey’s face said he knew that wasn’t going to happen before it shifted back into the confident smugness of a man who knew he had his boyfriend wrapped around his finger.  “And you have nothing to say about our domesticity?”

Salem tossed his jeans on the bed with an eye roll as he moved into the bathroom, flipping on the shower and coming back to stand in the doorway while the water heated, eyeing Bailey picking through his outfit with a grimace on his face. “We do chores together. And have shopping lists. And go to cooking classes.”

“This is _awful_. If you’re actually trying to look presentable, you should wear my red leaf print Burberry top and that pea green trench coat.  Also, maybe something other than jeans?”  He studied Salem’s expression as Salem went to the closet wordlessly, grabbing each item in turn and swiping his jeans off the bed as he went into the bathroom. “Maybe not,” Bailey said from behind him.  “Don’t forget to take your vitamins before you leave.”

“I rest my case,” Salem said as he closed the door.

“You need a better iron count!  Your GP said so!” Was Bailey’s only reply to that.

 

“Oh my God, you’re here!” Nicola exclaimed when Salem walked into the store five minutes until opening.

Salem stilled and narrowed his eyes at her before sidling over to the girl. “You look more nervous than me.”

“You’re not the one who gets fired if this goes horribly wrong,” Nicola snapped before clamping her mouth shut, eyes wide and face pale. Apparently, she’d realized snapping at her boss’s boss might get her fired just as effectively.

He laughed, “You’re not going to get fired Nicola.  Go open the store.”  Mortified, Nicola nodded and slunk away to the front door.  Salem moved through the anxious specialists until he found Nihal, Dane, Regulus, and Harley at the back of the room chatting amicably with his mother and sort-of stepfather, Georgia half-hidden behind a display case. Deciding it best to ignore _that_ situation, he came up between Reg and Dane.  “Doesn’t everyone have _work_ to be doing?”

“You’re late,” Reg said in a conversational tone and a nod of his head that told Salem to shove it.

“I’m in charge,” Salem retorted sagely while Reg quirked an eyebrow.

“Do you have kohl on your eyes?”  Harley asked, grabbing his face to frown at him balefully.

“Shh,” Nihal shook his head, “he’s also dressed mildly presentably. Let’s not nitpick.”

“Did your boyfriend pick out your outfit for you?” Dane chuckled.

Harley smacked the back of Dane’s head and pointed a finger at him warningly, and he complied, his mouth clamping shut as he smiled grimly at Salem. He rolled his eyes and turned his attention to his mother, “ _Privet mama._ ” Salem leaned forward, accepting the kiss she pressed to his cheek and a hug from Damien before he turned back to Harley.  “I thought you weren’t coming.”

Harley shrugged, “Reg texted me about how many people were lining the block to get in here, and I decided this was something I had to at least _see._   I’ll head back to the office in a little while.”

“I wasn’t _reprimanding_ you. If you want to be here, you can. I just didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Everyone’s going to be here,” Dane smirked smugly.

“I know,” Salem mirrored his expression, the pair of them high fiving.

Someone cleared her throat from behind him, and Salem turned to see a curvaceous redhead in a fitted black dress with the neck and cap-sleeves lace standing arm-in-arm with a fit blonde in a Topman navy suit.  Her green eyes met Salem’s with the slightest hint of disdain, and he realized where he’d seen her before and with who. Rosie Ireland didn’t let her expression lighten as she sniffed imperiously, “You could at least _try_ to behave like an adult as your customers start coming in.”  She nodded her head at the thickening crowd of people he hadn’t even noticed in the midst of having his conversation. She smiled like she knew what he was thinking, and he narrowed his eyes.  “Harry says hi.”

“Are they friends?”  A third voice asked, and Irial Dorian, the controversial radio DJ, appeared with his on air partner-in-crime, Cheryl Atterberry aka Cherrie Taylor, her Rihanna red hair hanging down in soft waves and her own voluptuous body outfitted in an outrageously loud swing dress.  “I didn’t know Harry _had_ friends…other than the obvious.”  Irial paused and met the eyes of Harley, Nihal, Salem, his family, Dane, and Reg in turn as he beamed, “Hi, I’m Irial Grayson.”

“Please,” Cheryl scoffed, “Harry isn’t _you_. He’s capable of friendship.”

Irial’s smile didn’t drop in the slightest as he inclined his head in Cheryl’s direction.  “This is Cheryl Atterberry.  You can call her Cherrie.”

“Or they can call me Cherrie.”

“I’m sorry,” Irial blinked at her, “did you say something?” Cheryl stared at him dully.

“I’m Salem Petrov,” he introduced himself and went to do the same with his partners when he turned to find them scurrying away, only his mother remaining as even Damien had abandoned them in favor of playing with some of the electronics on the table.  He smiled and nodded, “And this is my mother, Tasha.”

“Mothers love me,” Irial smiled at Tasha who quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Mothers love to _hate_ you,” Rosie corrected.

Irial frowned, “Crispin’s mother loves me.”

“Bad judge of character?” Cheryl suggested while Rosie nodded.

The blond beside Rosie stifled laughter as he turned to Irial, “Where is your better half?”

“Touring,” Irial huffed while Salem narrowed his eyes for a moment before blurting out.

“Holy fuck.”  His mother smacked him, and he winced, offering her an innocent smile as he turned back to a narrow-eyed Irial and a smirking Rosie.  He smiled apologetically, which didn’t seem to make Irial’s glare abate. “Harry said he was helping a celebrity come out, but I guess I didn’t realize that Cris Emerson was…I mean, I know he works with Dissident but…wow, okay.  My head’s going to explode.”

“Who is Cris Emerson?”

“Member of that British boyband, _Mama_ ,” Salem told her, patting her hand gently.  “The one who dated like all of Hollywood, and you didn’t believe me when I told you he was gay.”

Tasha snorted while Irial’s eyes narrowed even more.  “I’m sorry, who are you?”

Salem opened his mouth to respond when Charlie called out, “Irial Grayson!” Irial’s eyes widened as he whirled around to face Charlie, Patrick following closely behind him, absent of his usual made-up, statuesque eye candy.  Salem narrowed his eyes on his best friend whose gaze shifted from Irial to Salem, widening.  “Salem, you’ve met—”

“You know him?”  Irial inquired.

Charlie’s eyes drew over Irial in surprise before shifting to Salem. “Yes…he’s my best friend.”

“Ex-boyfriend,” Patrick coughed, smiling genially when Charlie shot him a glare. He moved around Charlie to smile at Tasha.  “ _Dobryy den’_ Tasha,” he wrapped her in a hug, kissing her cheek while she laughed delightedly.

Charlie and Salem exchanged a long-suffering look while Irial coughed, “Kiss ass.”

Tasha snapped her fingers and pointed warningly at him, “Language.” Irial’s eyes widened, and he nodded slowly as Tasha turned back to Patrick, “You’ve been practicing, Patrick. _Kak dela?_ ”

“I think your best friend just stole my mother.”

“I think maybe he does that every time they’re in the same room.”

“He stole my half-brother, he can’t have my mother too.” Charlie laughed while Irial peered between them curiously.

Salem met Irial’s eyes, and the man nodded sagely, “I brought my ex too.”

He pointed towards Rosie’s blond who only rolled his eyes as he remarked dryly, “And on the days that end in ‘y’ I go by Brandon Greer.”

“You work for Harry,” Salem started, conversation halting as another redhead appeared, a brilliant smile on his freckled face as he rested his chin on Rosie’s shoulder.  She eyed him suspiciously.

“You’ll never guess what, Rosie.”

“You want me to buy you something?”  Rosie offered while Salem bit back a smile as he brother pursed his lips, and she met Irial’s eyes with a ‘can you believe this kid’ look that made Irial peer into the throng as if he was searching for someone.

“Yes, but also, Catriona Buchanan’s here.”

“Is she?”  Salem asked with a wide smile.

“For fuck’s sake, he knows more people than _me_ ,” Irial said to Cheryl who patted his head reassuringly.

“It’s okay, someday you’ll be popular too.”

“That’s it.  I’m mailing you to South Africa.”  Cheryl quirked an eyebrow while Patrick narrowed his eyes at him.  He shrugged, “I’d say China, but if she had an success hitchhiking she could find her way back.  Unacceptable. I bet it’s not as easy hitchhiking through the Congo and sub-Saharan Africa.”

Cheryl flipped him off and said, “Who’s Catriona Buchanan.”

Rosie’s brother turned to Cheryl.  “Only one of the best fashion photographers of our generation. I have a total boner for her photography skills.  I wrote an essay on her techniques last term.”

“That’s weird,” Irial said.  “You shouldn’t say things like that outloud.”

“Have you ever met yourself?”  Charlie asked.

Irial glared at him before turning to the man.  “Holden is my boyfriend’s brother about to come over here to try to sucker me into buying her some frighteningly overpriced piece of tech?”

Holden half-shrugged, still obviously star struck.  “I don’t know, probably.  Ariella’s too busy talking fashion with Kanani Kapuana to really focus right now.  Did you know they’re dating?”

“I do now…” Irial said, turning Salem who smiled innocently while Charlie rolled his eyes and shook his head, resting an arm on Salem’s shoulder and leaning into him.  “So what do you do exactly?”

“Salem’s the CEO of the company,” Rosie responded while Irials’ eyes widened again, face dropping as he hesitated, unsure what to say while Cheryl and Brandon both fought laughter.  “I…it…well…I really enjoy your fairly priced products.  They’re very…”

“Innovative?” Cheryl suggested innocently.

“Yes, that,” Irial nodded.

“I think you need a drink,” Salem replied, turning to Charlie. “You want one?”

Bemused, Charlie nodded his head, eyes trailing Patrick as he wandered away with Tasha, the pair of them deep in conversation.  Rosie let her brother tow her away towards Kanani and Catriona, the former of whom met Salem’s eyes and nodded in greeting as he brushed passed with Irial and Charlie in tow towards the makeshift bar in the corner of the room. “Can I have a Guinness, a…whatever kind of cider you have, and…” he turned to Irial, eyebrows raised.

“A vodka…straight…just straight.”

Charlie laughed while Salem bit his lip and shook his head, turning to Salem. “Did your mother get onto you about Bailey yet?”

“Fucking hell, no, she didn’t really have time, though,” Salem grimaced while Charlie laughed, and Irial looked between them with dawning realization.

“You know Bailey?”

Salem couldn’t help but bark out a laugh while Charlie shook his head, accepting his cider from the bartender with a thankful smile, handing Salem his Guinness as he answered Irial’s question, “Biblically.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Salem said to Charlie lightly while Irial gaped. “And I don’t want to talk about why I’m still living with Craig.  I’ve literally been dating Bailey officially for something like three weeks. I don’t want to put too much stress on our relationship too fast by showing up with my bags and dropping them like ‘I’m here to stay.’”

“You’re doing that ‘moron’ thing again,” Charlie pointed out while Salem glowered at him.  He raised his hands in a shallow gesture of innocence.  “I’m sure Craig officially wants back to the hovel you’re barely living in because you even sleep at Bailey’s when his on roadtrips.  And for fuck’s sake, you and Bailey danced around each other for _years_.  He’s not going to be shocked if you discuss moving in.”

“Who’s moving in?”  A feminine voice asked from behind them.

All three of them whirled around to find a gorgeous Middle Eastern woman with thick waves of dark hair, dangerous curves, and impeccable makeup in a red Alexander McQueen mini dress and Christian Louboutin ankle boot heels standing beside an equally sexy Bailey who was his own category of casual in a Ralph Lauren sweat over one of Bailey’s checkered shirts and a leather jacket with a pair of fitted khaki trousers, his long dark hair tied back at the nape of his neck.

Irial smiled at her while Charlie raised his eyebrows at her appearance. Bailey looked down at her. “You want a drink?”

She seemed surprised by this but nodded.  “Wine, please.  Red.”

Bailey nodded and stepped up to the bar, his hand brushing Salem’s side in greeting as he moved passed.  Salem half-smiled at him as he turned back to the new arrival with Charlie still by his side, and her attention on Irial.  “Iri.”

“Alina, you don’t have to look like I’m going to bite you. I think we’re on pretty good terms, yeah?”

“Are you talking about those times we partied together when you were pretending you weren’t totally ten seconds away from breaking up with your boyfriend? Because being a happy drunk looking to party does not equal good terms,” Alina remarked lightly. And _that’s_ when Salem placed her as Alina Rosen, the promiscuous singer from the Persian pop band, Azadi.  She’d been rumored to have dated Cris Emerson, which Salem had doubted since before he knew Irial and Cris were together.  Just from the demure yet sexy way she dressed to her ‘don’t fuck with me’ stance as she graciously accepted the wine glass Bailey offered you, Salem realized that promiscuous was a stretch.  She seemed the type not to let anyone she didn’t trust with her life touch her with a ten-foot pole.

Irial cocked his head at her and shrugged, “We’re fine. I mean, me and Dissident are not fine, but _we_ ,” he motioned between them, “are.”

Alina nodded once, and Salem glanced to Bailey who had come to stand beside him. “How do you know Alina Rosen?”

“We met at the door.  She was having a bizarre conversation with Maverick.”

Charlie’s head whipped around.  “Mav actually showed up?”

Bailey frowned and nodded slowly.  Alina spoke up at Charlie’s wide-eyed look.  “I left him chatting with some bubbly, busty blonde by the front.”

“Fuck me,” Charlie ground out, sharing a look with Salem over Georgia, though the implicit anxiety in that gaze didn’t make the slightest sense to him. “Excuse me,” Charlie said, brushing passed them.

Irial pinned Bailey with a glare, “You didn’t tell me you were dating someone last time we met.”

“I wasn’t then,” Bailey replied cheekily, turning his attention to Salem who was frowning after Charlie.  “Do you want to—?”

“Yes,” he gripped Bailey’s wrist and towed him through the crowd, peering around for Charlie.

It wasn’t altogether too hard to find him, a tight-lipped Regulus pointing to the stock room with a near murderous expression on his face. Salem nodded, only vaguely aware of Irial and Alina trailing him to the door and into the room.

He found Patrick with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring balefully at a thin, pale, dark-haired woman who looked vaguely like him from across the room. At his side, Rosie was talking to one of the biggest names in the industry who he knew Charlie had met when he’d worked briefly for Disney Channel.  Theodore Maverick acted, sang, and modeled professionally and dominated at all three fields; he was also, to Salem’s knowledge, both a mess and a manwhore. He might have been muscled, gorgeous in the way most multiracial men were, with spectacular naturally ombre curls in addition to natural talent, but he couldn’t keep it together to save his life.

Charlie stood in front of the pair, glaring at Georgia who seemed confused but utterly unrepentant at whatever she’d done to cause this mess.

“What’s going on?”  Salem asked as he slunk into the room with Bailey close behind.

The dark-haired woman’s eyes locked onto them, glancing between them with a knowing glint in her eye that made Salem straighten, crossing her arms over her chest.  He forced himself to ignore it, his eyes going to a shame-faced Maverick who seemed to realize his hangdog expression and forced himself into a look of disinterest as he leaned against the wall, letting Rosie fuss over him in a way that had Salem raising his eyebrows. Patrick’s glower intensified, and Bailey looked between them as Salem rested a hand on Patrick’s arm.

“Patty?”

“My, my what company you keep, Patrick,” the woman replied, an Irish lilt accenting her words.

“Why are you still here, Maggie?”  Patrick snapped.

“I’m doing my job,” Maggie Gallagher retorted lightly, a smile accompanying her words as she took a sip of her white wine.

“Right…” Salem asked, placing her at the same moment Irial seemed to, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows at her with a disdainful look. Maggie Gallagher was one of the premiere tabloid journalists in the UK.  He remembered Charlie telling him more than once that Patrick avoided her like the plague.  His eyes shifted to Georgia who Alina was staring at with blatant disgust and mild disbelief. “What’s _your_ part in whatever _this_ was, Georgia?”

Georgia shrugged, her eyes darting first to Maggie and then to Maverick before meeting Salem’s eyes, her chin tilting up defiantly.  He raised his eyebrows but didn’t call her on it. “Nothing, Maverick and I were just getting acquainted.”

Bailey snorted while Alina shook her head and rolled her eyes. Salem looked Maverick who gritted his teeth and glanced to Rosie, but didn’t do more to disagree before shooting both her and Maggie poisonous looks.  Salem nodded slowly.  “Okay, I can’t believe I have to _tell_ you not to sexually solicit anyone while your working, but, since we’re here, let’s just add that to a part of your job description.  Cool?”

“I’m not a whore,” Georgia snapped.

“Debatable,” Alina commented, shrugging when Georgia sneered at her. “Call it like I see it. You know what else? I think you’re dangerous. I think you’ll do anything to get what you want, and God only knows what you want.”

Bailey and Charlie shared a glance, and Maggie to Georgia’s glass breaking from the pressure of her hand holding it to slip from the room. Salem caught it, but let it go, turning back to Georgia.  He stared at her for a moment, unsure of what she wanted or had done, not entirely sure he wanted to know.  He turned to Maverick. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, it’s not like this is the first time,” Maverick hissed, the anger in his tone unmistakable.

“Right,” Salem nodded, turning to Georgia.  “Why don’t you call it a day and go home.”  She opened her mouth to argue, but he held up a hand and shook his head. “Don’t care.  Go.”  Georgia fumed and stomped out of the room, and Salem turned to Maverick who seemed to be _trying_ to hide how grateful he was for that.  “Why don’t you, and me, and everyone else in this room get a drink?”

Maverick’s face brightened while Charlie and Rosie said simultaneously, “Not you.”

His face dropped, and Irial’s eyebrows rose.  Bailey frowned at the three of them while Salem shared at glance with Irial.  “Okay, new plan. Why don’t I send someone to do a coffee run, and we can sit in the break room and watch reruns of _Once Upon A Time_ on Netflex.”

 _That_ seemed to agree with everyone, and twenty minutes they had crashed in the back with a handful of lattes, frappuccinos, and macchiatos while they passed a combination of hors d’oeuvres and Starbucks muffins around, Salem curled up against Bailey’s side with his feet thrown in Charlie’s lap.  Alina was sharing a loveseat with Irial, Maverick’s head resting against her thigh as she threaded her fingers through his hair softly as she debated whether Hook or Neal would have been better for Emma with Kanani and Rosie. Holden and Ariella spread across the floor talking lowly beside Catriona who seemed genuinely engrossed.

Bailey pressed his head against Salem’s.  “Your parties are always so fucking weird, Konstantion.”

“Don’t even play.  They’re the only ones you have fun at.”  Bailey smiled and tugged on Salem’s hair but didn’t disagree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! You weren't expecting this, but I've had such a shit day that I figured, fuck it.
> 
> Ok, it wasn't a totally shit day, but it was pretty shitty. I got sick at a house party I didn't even want to go to last night. Woke up late for class. Realised we didn't do our group project right BECAUSE we listened to our professor, started an argument about paper copies of magazines becoming obsolete and unnecessary just to spite everyone, and then getting sick walking back from the cinema where I saw Hotel Transylvania 2, but there will be pizza for dinner tonight so...I'll let it go.
> 
> I know Georgia's annoying, but she's going to be really important in the upcoming upcoming-ness. Really important, which does not mean she won't be a bitch (she is a selfish bitch) but still. I'm not nearly done with Bailey and Salem. It won't be 60 chapters like the first (I don't think) but it's a near thing. I've got majority of it written already. I've just finished writing chapter 47 so... I'm excited. Now that they're relationship's chill I've fucked with literally almost everything else around them. Shit's about to go down, and I get to write Salem's family in Japan soon :)
> 
> Anyway, have a good rest of your friday now that I've dropped this unexpected bomb on you ;)


	40. "Something's Gotta Give" by All Time Low

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bailey decides to do what needs to be done

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

"Ahaha he proposed…and then he turned into a flying monkey"

 

**Irial Dorian (@DorianII)**

@Salem_Daiki "I almost married an evil minion of my grandfather Peter Pan."

 

**Harry Benton-Sterling (@HaroldBSterling)**

@rosieposie why do we let @DorianII @Salem_Daiki talk?

 

**Text message to** **Артур**

**Таша:** Did u convince my son yet?

**Артур:** No tasha. Im working on it

**Таша:** Are u? Ur both pigheaded men. It took u a long time to get to this point.

**Артур:** Im working on it. Promise. So is Craig. And Chaz. And Nani

**Таша:** Also good first few games. Damien’s been downloading them for me

**Таша:** Streaming! My bad. Damien’s such a psycho

**Артур:** Lmao I kno! Ur son’s the same. Nd thnx Tasha I feel gr8. Gonna b a good yr

 

**Arsenal transitions well under new captaincy**

Almost two months into the season, Arsenal looks promising having only lost one of their seven games and tied another despite having to transition under the leadership of new captain, Jorge Maldonado, after the retirement of longtime captain, Bakar Bengochea. “Maldonado’s not _new_ ,” star forward, Arthur Bailey, remarked when asked why he believed the transition was going so easily for the team.“We know him, know how he plays, know what he’s like, and know how he’d behave as a captain. It wasn’t a decision that was taken lightly, and we weren’t unprepared. He’s more integral a part of this team as captain, but he was before only to a lesser degree. It wasn’t as colossal a change as everyone thinks.” Maldonado seems to have ironed out at least some of the kinks from last year; the tension that had been evident between Rafael Correa and Arthur Bailey eradicated on at least a surface level. As for whether or not there are tensions between Bailey and Maldonado, Maldonado said, “If there were, I think he squashed them when he yanked the FIFA World Cup right out of my fingertips.” Bailey laughed at that while Maldonado continued by saying, “The kid never gets excited about anything, but he couldn’t stop talking about how they won the World Cup when I was drowning in my own sorrow. I’m just kidding; it wasn’t that pathetic.”

 

**Text message to Salem**

**Bailey:** U kno Craig called to tell me rent’s due

**Salem:** shit. Fuck. Shit fuck. Fucking shit fuck.

**Salem:** Ok. Can you transfer some money to his account from my computer?

**Bailey:** R u srsly still doing this? He only called so he’d get a no frm u.

**Salem:** Omfg can we tlk abt this when i get home? Im in the middle of something

**Bailey:** So I can tell from ur fugly grammar.

**Salem:** Ur sister called me abt ur mother’s chemo trtmnts. Wnts u to visit.

**Bailey:** I was thinking ratatouille for dinner.

**Salem:** lol ok ill be home in like 30min…or 90. Probably 90. Ill pick up wine.

 

**Another 'out' celebrity and his possible girlfriend**

Only two days ago, Breaking Fourth band member, Cris Emerson, announced on bff Irial Dorian's radio show that he identified as a pansexual and has "gone out with boys and girls." The announcement came on the heels of Emerson admitting to being in a serious, committed relationship, words we haven't heard since he began dating Beatrice Learner in 2011 on the heels of the band's success (which naturally spurned rumors of a romance rekindling between them, though Crissy denied it).  And while the sort-of, kind-of coming out has boosted the fringe-dwelling 'Crisial shippers', most people seem more inclined to believe Crissy's secret girlfriend is, in fact, songwriter and freelance editor (as well as former flatmate and best friend of Irial Dorian), Rosie Ireland, who not only helped Cris's friend, Soren Reid, on his album but also assisted the writing on the last three Breaking Fourth albums as well.  The rumors sprang from her Tweet "<3 #proud #PropsToMyBoy#HereForYou" as well as Cris Emerson saying on Dorian Speaks that he'd come out not because of the gender of who he was dating but his comfort and confidence in his relationship and that person's continued support.  Considering he Tweeted only minutes after coming out a thank you to both Irish Rose and Dorian, we're certainly ready to hop on board this ship.

* * *

Dating Salem, Bailey had quickly learned, was a lot like _not_ dating Salem except without the crippling insecurity every time he so much as talked to another man for more than five minutes. It also came with fielding a torrid of phone calls from his friends and family trying to get in touch with him when Salem had buried himself so deeply in his work that the only people he’d answer his phone for either worked with him or was Bailey.

Bailey had decided somewhere between daily texts from Tasha and Craig’s frequent, unsubtle attempts to say Salem needn’t bother with paying half of the rent and did he want the rest of outwear stuffed in the back of the closet to be packed up and dropped off at Bailey’s, that dating Salem also meant it’d be best to occasionally overlook what Salem said he wanted and do what he needed as history showed the two of them would keep things until the last possible moment.

That was why Bailey found himself sitting on a beanbag chair in his driveway with one of Salem’s joints in his fingers and his eyes narrowed on the street when Salem walked up with a Marks and Spencer’s bag dangling from his fingertips.

He paused, gaped, and then walked up the driveway.

“Do you know that Caroline might actually kill me if _that_ picture winds up in the tabloids?”  Salem asked as he made his way to Bailey who only tipped his head back to smile smugly at him.  He narrowed his eyes on Bailey.

“You’re not planning on keeping that furniture on the lawn are you?”  A new voice asked.

Bailey turned to see Mr. Tarris’s balding head peek from up behind the hedge to stare at them judgmentally. His eyes zeroed in on the joint in Bailey’s hand, and Salem stepped in front of him quickly, offering him a bland smile and glancing behind him to raise his eyebrows pointedly at Bailey. Taking the hint, Bailey tucked the joint into Salem’s back pocket as he looked around Bailey to smile at Mr. Tarris.

“Evening, Mr. Tarris, how are you today?”  Bailey asked him kindly.

“I was better before your friends showed up,” Mr. Tarris remarked.

“Me too,” Salem told him with a humorless laugh, turning to face Bailey with raised eyebrows, curious.

Bailey smirked at Salem before looking around him to Mr. Tarris.  “We’re just moving some stuff into the house.  It’ll quiet done soon.  Promise.”

“Um-hmm,” Mr. Tarris said gruffly, waddling into his house, face set angrily.

Salem’s arm crossed over his chest as he turned around to face Bailey who got to his feet with a long-suffering sigh.  He smiled innocently, and Salem’s mouth opened as he shook his head slowly, starting to say something when another voice cried out joyfully:

“You’re finally here!”

Whirling around with a look of surprise, Salem just managed to catch Irial as he sprang into his arms. Salem patted his head and glanced to Bailey who only smiled and hefted the beanbag chair over his shoulder.

“So are you, apparently.” Salem nodded, pursing his lips and frowning, “I don’t mean to sound rude, but _why_ are you here?”

Irial blinked at Salem with a lazy smile on his face; his eyes darted to Bailey.  He pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes like he didn’t know what his boyfriend was talking about.  Irial frowned thoughtfully at Bailey before turning back to Salem and tossing his a bright and brilliant smile.  “Well, we’re moving…you…in…riiiiiiiight?”

“Moving me in?” Salem nodded and swung his gaze to Bailey.  “ _Moving me in_?”

“Whoa,” Irial held his hands up and took a step back.  “Did you hear that?  Rosie calling me. I’m coming!”  He turned tail and booked it back into the house.

Salem waited until the door closed behind Irial before he hissed at Bailey, “Really?”

“Really,” Bailey retorted with a one-shouldered shrug.  He dropped the beanbag chair onto the sidewalk and stepped up to Salem, grabbing his hand and pressing their foreheads together while Salem gritted his teeth and shook his head.  “Salem,” his eyes opened with a sigh, and he met Bailey’s gaze levelly.  “It took us two years to get our shit together. I gave you two months of this ‘we can’t move in together because it’ll all be too fast and blah, blah, blah’ stupid. We’re not doing this again. Craig wants you out of that flat. You had a grand total of three pairs of trainers, a jumper, and six hideous button-up shirts from Topman in your closet, various knick-knacks that we managed to fit into two boxes, a few books, and a few pieces of God awful furniture and sheets that I brought but kind of want to burn.  Why are you so determined to keep playing this game?”

He shook his head and took a step back, running a trembling hand through his hair.

Bailey took a breath and forced himself to plunge forward, because someone had to take the step. “What is this about? _Really_ about?  Do you not think that we’ll—”

“God, _no_ , Bailey,” Salem cut him off before he could force the words out.  He took ahold of Bailey’s hands again and tugged the two of them together.  “I love you, you know that.  It’s not…I’m just…”

“Afraid?”

“I…” Salem huffed and nodded his head slowly.  “Yeah, Arthur, I’m afraid.  We’ve been doing this for a while, but we haven’t.  We couldn’t get it together until we did.  We’re not good at this.  And you play professional sports, and I’m an openly gay CEO of an up-and-coming consumer electronics company.  We’re both always travelling.  We’re both kind of fucked up.  This is a recipe for disaster, and what happens if it goes wrong?”

“What if it doesn’t?” Bailey shot back angrily.

“What if it _does_?”

Bailey threw his hands up and shook his head.  “So you—what? You want a bolt hole so that on the off-chance this somehow gets totally fucked, you can run and pretend this never happened.”

Salem shook his head, “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“No?” Bailey snapped, “What then? You live here. _We_ live here.  Stop trying to put distance between us building a life together, because, yes, I play professional sports and if this gets fucked up it’s going to be loud and hurt, but I need you here with me.  I need you to be here. I need us both to be here. I need us to be…”

“Partners,” Salem nodded his head and bit his bottom lip.  “You need us to be partners.  You need us to be in this together, but are you going to want that if anything goes wrong. I want a place to go if…”

Bailey frowned at him and stepped back, shaking his head as he tried to rein together his emotions. He understood what Salem was hinting, but as much as he understood both the implication and the thought process behind it, Bailey couldn’t help but feel insulted by it regardless. He rested his hands on his waist and laughed humorlessly.  “If I kick you out of our house if I get outed to save face?  Do you _really_ think I’d do that to you?”

Irial cleared his throat, and Bailey didn’t even spare Salem another glance as he turned to face the man standing in the doorway in a pair of galaxy patterned girl’s skinny jeans and an oversized Arsenal hoodie, his hair sticking up in all directions and Kanani’s head poking over his shoulder as he said, “I don’t think this is the best place for this conversation.”

“Did Salem bring food?” Catriona called out from the depths of the house.

Bailey rolled his eyes but nodded his head as he started towards the house.  Salem grabbed hold of his wrist to stop him, “Bailey wait.” Shaking off the touch with a dark look, Bailey walked into the house, brushing passed a startled Irial and Kanani. He could hear Salem calling out from behind him, but he ignored the call as he ran up the stairs unable to think and maybe even breathe properly as he mind turned over Salem’s line of thoughts because would he?

Would he fuck over Salem if he ever got outed to save his own skin?

Could he do something like that to the man he loved to keep his career from imploding?

He _wanted_ to say no, but Bailey didn’t know, _couldn’t_ know unless it happened.  No one could know that until it happened, but it still hurt him that Salem on some level believed that Bailey was capable of that. And he might be, which fuck Salem very much for doing this to him, for making him consider this.

He’d made it through the bedroom and ripped open the doors of the balcony, pausing in the doorway to haul the fresh, chilly September air into his lungs when he tensed again at the sound of Salem’s voice as the door opened.

“Bailey.”

Ignoring Salem’s voice, Bailey shook his head and let Salem’s arms wrap around him from behind, and he bit his lip and fought his body’s automatic reaction to melt against Salem’s as his lips brushed Salem’s ear.

“Bailey, please just talk to me.”

Exploding and infuriated, Bailey yanked himself out of Salem’s arms and whirled around to face him. “How could you think I’d do that to you?”

Salem shook his head, “I don’t. I don’t think you would, Bailey; it’s just that _I’m_ afraid that you _could_.  And I want to know that I have a safe space if you did.”

“Do you think that makes it any better?  Do you think makes it hurt less than it already does?”  Bailey exclaimed, wiping the tears he hadn’t quite realized were falling from his eyes with a single, brusque motion.  “Do you know how it makes _me_ feel knowing that you think I’m capable of that enough that you can’t let go of a tiny apartment in Camden you don’t really live in with a flatmate who doesn’t want you there?  I’m not asking for a lot here, Salem.  I’m just asking for a little trust.”

“No,” Salem disagreed, “you’re asking for faith.”

“I’m asking us to be a team. I’m asking you build a life with me, because after three years…” Bailey trailed off with a humorless laugh and the shake of his head, biting his lip as he fought back tears. “You said you thought we were worth it. I want us to take the risk because if we don’t we’re gonna stagnant here, and that’ll be it.  It’s not enough to say that we’re in a relationship; I need us _both_ to be _in_ this so, yes, I’m asking you to have a little a faith.” He paused and met Salem’s eyes. Salem nodded his head and leaned against the balcony as he gnawed absently on his lip ring.  “Because I’m here being a professional footballer with considerably more to lose than you diving into this headlong, yeah? I don’t think it’s too much to ask for a little faith from you.”

Drawing a long breath, Salem nodded his head and reached out to grasp Bailey’s hand in his. He hesitated a moment before closing his mouth and tugging a reluctant Bailey forward.  Despite his anger, Bailey melted into Salem as he threaded his fingers through his hair and pulled him into a lingering, soft kiss. His mouth opened under Salem’s with a moan, their tongues barely touching before Salem was pulling back with nod and a soft smile, his fingertips massage Bailey’s scalp.

“Okay, we don’t have to keep the beanbag chair. I’m almost twenty-three and own multi-million dollar company; I don’t need a beanbag chair,” Salem cocked his head and grinned. “Also, I saw you eyeing it like you wanted to take it to the backyard and light it on fire so best to remove temptation.”

“Shut up,” Bailey laughed and swatted him.

“We probably need to work on this communication thing.”

“You think?” Salem tugged Bailey’s hair gently before grabbing his hand and towing him back towards the common room where they’d stashed the rest of their ever-growing motley crew. “So…” he hedged carefully as Salem held the bedroom door open for him with raised eyebrows.  “You’re not mad I hijacked your flat?”

Salem laughed, “Yeah, I’m kinda mad about that, but it’s not…you weren’t…”

Bailey hopped off the last step and turned around to smirk at Salem, smugly.  “Go on, I love hearing about how absolutely right I was.”

“Fuck off,” Salem exclaimed even as his lips began to curve into a smile.  “Don’t you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?”

“No?” Bailey replied.

“Oi!  Morons!”  Bailey turned to see Catriona standing in the living room entryway with her hair twisted up in a bun and her eyes locked on the screen of the mobile in her hands. “We decided that Domino’s was absolutely in order after that heart wrenching display.”  She looked up to point a threatening finger at Bailey; he put his hands up and beamed widely at her, not reacting when he heard Salem scoff behind him.  “You will eat at least two slices and not once complain about the calorie count.  Am I understood?”

“Yes ma’am,” Bailey promised, his grin still in place as he leaned forward to press a kiss to her cheek. “You look ravishing this evening Miss Buchanan.  Doesn’t she Salem?”

“Don’t drag me into this. I fucking love pizza.” He rested both hands on Bailey’s waist and steered him into the living room where Irial, Rosie, Kanani, and Brandon had spread across the floor with bottles of wine, vodka, and coke that surely didn’t belong to them while _The Real Housewives of Orange County_ played on screen and they flipped through Salem’s picture albums on the floor.  “That’s mine!”

“No shit,” Irial and Rosie deadpanned simultaneously.

Bailey smirked, and Salem elbowed him, yanking him down as he plopped onto the floor. He glared at Salem as he righted himself, and Salem smiled back genially as if he’d done nothing wrong.

“Look at your little face,” Kanani beamed.

“Where’s your dog?” Bailey asked with deadly calm simultaneously with Salem’s anxious inquiry.

Catriona rolled her eyes as she sat down beside her girlfriend, taking the empty glass from her fingers and pouring in coke as Irial offered her a bottle of vodka.  She inclined her glass vaguely in the direction of the back of the house.  “Edward has been banished to the backyard.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Bailey snapped while Salem grimaced, “Tarris is actually going to kill us tomorrow.”

“You do realize he’s your _neighbor_ not your landlord,” Brandon hedged carefully.

“Yeah, he can’t actually police your behavior on your own property,” Rosie finished, raising her eyebrows and shrugging one shoulder as she sipped her drink.  “Or he _shouldn’t_.”

Bailey opened his mouth to say it was just easier for everyone to appease Tarris when Irial held his hands up and shook his head.  “Lalalala, noooooooooo, that’s enough seriousness for today.  I’ve just found out my fiancé is dating my best friend, the sister I never had—”

Rosie and Brandon shot each other disbelieving looks before both saying, “You _have_ sisters.”

Irial hushed them, and Bailey stifled a laugh in Salem’s shoulder while his boyfriend peered around in confusion.  “What?”

Catriona tossed Salem her mobile, and he caught it deftly, thumbing through an article. He started laughing hysterically, and Bailey hooked his chin over Salem’s shoulder to see.  Salem tilted the screen towards him, still laughing, and Bailey’s eyebrows rose.  Rosie rolled her eyes while Irial fought back a cheeky grin at her expense.

“So,” Bailey started with feigned thoughtfulness, “does that make you two sister-wives?”

Rosie flicked him off, and he smiled at broadly at her and wrapped an arm around Salem to hold him up as he dissolved into breathless hysterics.  Kanani and Catriona shook their head fighting smiles; Irial gaped before sputtering, “Boo, no, you don’t get to have a sense of humor at my expense.  Not allowed.”

“Let’s put on a film,” Brandon interrupted.  “Should we put on a film?”

“I know!” Irial exclaimed while Rosie pointed at him threateningly, “No.”

“Can we go _Rocky Horror_?”  Kanani suggested while Catriona nodded, “Salem, at least, _has_ to have _Rocky Horror Picture Show_ , right?”

Bailey glanced at his red-faced, breathless boyfriend who grinned up at him softly. “I’m glad you brought me home, Bailey.”

“Yeah, me too, even if we did end up fighting about it.”

Salem’s smile turned nostalgic and unbelievably sweet as he shook his head, “That’s not quite what I meant, but that works too.”  A moment later he was up and on his feet, racing after Irial and Kanani. “Of course I have _Rocky Horror Picture Show_!  I’m insulted you even had to debate that!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God, so this chapter literally wrote itself. I had plans. I had an idea of what I wanted this chapter to be and then Bailey was like 'why don't you want to move in with me' and I was sitting there going fair fucking point, speak Salem, and this happened. We all know Salem's being stupid, but it's a legitimate enough fear.
> 
> Rocky Horror Picture Show is one of the strangest things that ever happened to my life. It's a great thing to see when they have the people acting a long with it, but otherwise it's a bizarre movie. Absolutely.
> 
> Happy Monday!


	41. "Perfect" by One Direction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Salem and Patrick have a heart to heart about the industry

**Text message to Salem**

**Irial:** Do you know if it’s true that they’re remaking Rocky Horror? Cuz if they are I’ll cry.

 **Salem:** They’re not remaking Rocky Horror.

 **Salem:** Tumblr would have lost their shit over that.

 **Irial:** Yes ok but did you see the new star wars trailer?

 **Salem:** Fucking hell I’m supposed to be working.

 **Irial:** Stop working and fangirl with me asshole.

 **Salem:** …give me 10min I’m in a meeting.

 **Irial:** Btw I found fanfiction about you and Bailey. Like a lot of it.

 **Salem:** Why were you looking?

 **Irial:** Why WEREN’T you?

 

**Benedikt Roland (@Bennyboy9)**

@ArthurBailey @carey_me_home ready for a solid ass kicking this weekend?

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

@Bennyboy9 @carey_me_home I thought it was a playdate? That’s what its called when kids meet up and play games, right?

 

**Carey Ahearn (@carey_me_home)**

@ArthurBailey @Bennyboy9 ahaha you think you’re hysterical, don’t you? See if you’re laughing when you have kids?

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

@carey_me_home when I have whaaaaaaaaaaaaat?

 

**Text message to Arthur**

**Katie:** Our mother is dying!

 **Arthur:** Our mother is determined to be news fodder until that day comes and I want no part in it

 **Katie:** You made that clear. In the news

 **Arthur:** You all dragged me into the mud right along with you. Don’t get self righteous that I fought my way out.

 **Katie:** She’s our mother! Dying! Without her two sons by her side in a hospital.

 **Arthur:** I want to see her, but I’m not doing it in front of the news. Stop texting me unless you’ve got something useful to say.

 **Katie:** Will you take mum’s calls?

 **Arthur:** Will she be taking them in front of a news crew?

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

I’m officially in NYC for Comic-Con!!!!!!!

 

**Harleen Bhattal (@HarleyBhat)**

@Salem_Daiki you mean your business meeting, right? The one about expansion right?

* * *

 **Salem:** I have literally never seen so many half naked girls in all my life.

 **Bailey:** Nd here i thot tht was a personal choice

Salem snorted and took a sip of his water as he peered at the mint condition Star Wars collectibles assembled on the table, every now and then peering around for Patrick. The man at the games booth across the aisle kept peering at Salem wide-eyed and quizzical, and he rolled his eyes but kept his mouth shut as he picked his way through the pile.

New York made Salem blissfully aware of everything he missed about the United States…and cities that actually seemed like they’d been _intentional_ and not several townships in close quarters that made the country shrug and go ‘eh, there: a city.’  He’d said that to Bailey who’d rolled his eyes, declared London the best city in the world, and promply hung up before calling five minutes later after Salem had sent him a picture of a group of kids playing soccer in Flushing Meadows Park to complain about how Americans had stupid names for things and an entirely too high salt content in the fast food.

He’d gone out and eaten greasy McDonald’s chicken nuggets, salty fries, and a high calorie chocolate chip frappe in protest.

Someone had to move out to the US anyway to supervise expansion on the North American continent, especially after he’d signed a lease for a space in Brooklyn.  He hadn’t exactly told Bailey, but his tendency to take conference calls in the kitchen while they made dinner had probably clued him in. They hadn’t discussed it, but Salem hadn’t really thought it had been necessary.  His partners knew from the first moment Regulus had proposed the expansion that Bailey wouldn’t be going, not given the way things were going with Bailey.

Besides, it made more sense for Nihal and Harley to go or Regulus, depending on who wanted to oversee the work so closely.  He’d left that up for them to decide and dealt with a surly Bailey as he continued to dance around question of what part _Salem_ would play in his company’s overseas expansion every time his boyfriend brought it up over the phone.  It was a bit sadistic, but it was both amusing watching Bailey squirm and, Salem thought, necessary for them to nurture that fragile, broken trust between them.

Bailey wanted Salem to have faith, in their relationship, in _them_.

Salem wanted Bailey to understand that discussion or not, he would and he _did_ want them to build a future together, and that didn’t include him moving back three thousand miles from New York as much as he loved the city and his country.

“Tell me you’re not actually dressed as the Winter Soldier.  Tell me that the most signifcant inventor and entrepreneur of the twenty-first century is not dressed as a sort-of hero, sort-of villain at Comic Con.”

“God forbid,” Salem remarked with a wide smile as he turned around to face Patrick Gallgher who stood amidst the comic-enthusiasts and cosplayers looking utterly out of place in a pair of Armani jeans and a Comme des Garçons t-shirt worth more money than most of the attendees rent.  “What was I supposed to do?  Cosplay as _you_?  Who are you again? Captain America?”

Patrick clucked his tongue at Salem and tugged him away from the booth, the two of them walking as they moved between the exhibitors on either side of the makeshift aisleway and weaving through costumed crowds.  “Batman,” he corrected.

“Oh?” Salem snorted as he nodded his head, looking sideways at Patrick and breaking into laughter. “That’s not what Chaz says. He swears you’re the Joker.”

“I guess we’ll see then,” Patrick waggled his eyebrows theatrically.

“It doesn’t _really_ matter.  I mean, do we really _need_ another Batman? It’s the third series in as many years.”

Patrick shrugged his shoulders. “I’m only an actor not a writer.”

“Well that’s not what either Chaz _or_ Michi tells me,” Salem retorted, pausing beside a booth exhibiting manga novels and flipping through _Jikogu No Kami_ with a placid expression on his face that made Patrick roll his eyes, entirely unconvinced of Salem’s innocence.

“And why would you listen to them?”  Patrick returned while Salem tilted his head sideways at him, the manga still clenched in his hands.  Patrick huffed out a breath and shook his head with a half-smile on his face. He took the manga clenched in Salem’s hand and put it back on the table, nodding at the Asain kid eyeing him with derision, arms crossed over his chest. _Gomen_ _’_ _nasai_.”

“What?” The kid shot back.

Salem barked out a laugh while Patrick rolled his eyes.  “You know, the writers want to make the Joker gay.”

“Really?”  He turned back to Patrick, more than a little interested in _that_ story.

“Really, which _I_ said would be a interesting shift in the narrative so long as it wasn’t used in relation to why he’s as evil as he is, and you know what the writer said to me?”

“Nothing?”

“Not _nothing_ ,” Patrick corrected wryly, “he said that it’ll go through as many edits as is needed and be out of his hands, because _that_ _’_ _s_ what this industry is.”  He laughed humorlessly and ran a hand through his hair as he continued, evidently no longer talking to Salem.  “That’s what this industry is.  It’s erasing identities when they don’t fit the desired societal narrative. Just look at Cap and Bucky,” Patrick gestured half-heartedly to Salem’s costume.  “They have convient—and mildly disturbing—partners, and yet whenever villains actually want a reaction from them they kidnap the other man…or torture him…or threaten to kill him.   Look at Batman and the Joker.”

“They’re not fucking,” Salem commented.

“No, but they’re devoted to each other, revolve around each other, they’re certainly the most stable relationship that they’ve ever had regardless of any girlfriends. Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn get an honorable mention but never actually get any results.  Lestat and du Lac from _Interview with a Vampire_ were screwing in the books but it was cut out in the movies.  Dean and Cas from _Supernatural._   It’s just the way it goes.”

“Is that why you and Michi never actually have Kaede and Ridley hook up in _Jikogu No Kami_?”

Patrick cocked his head and pursed his lips, shaking his head.  “I mean…it may be part of it, but certainly not the whole.  And, you’ll notice they never hook up with anyone else. They just circle around each other without ever _saying_ or _doing_ anything.  How the hell did you and Bailey even manage for that long?”

Salem turned to Patrick with an eyebrow quirked, “Are we still talking about the industry…or me?”

Patrick huffed out a laugh and pull Salem through the crowd and into a massive line for concessions. “Do you want a drink?”

“No.”

“Well, I sure a shit need one. Mind?”

Salem didn’t argue with his friend nor attempt to dissuade him from his determined path to distraction.  Tilting his head, Salem looked past Patrick to a group of firls dressed as female supervillains whispering, their eyes on him knowingly. Salem arched a brow at them, and their eyes widened as they drew back, nervous smiles on their faces. He shook his head and smiled gently, turning back to Patrick.

“So your sister’s still in town then, I take it.”

Patrick grimaced. “My mam wants us to…make up, and I…” he trailed off with a sad, watery smile, “I know better.  We can’t go back, can’t redo the past.  I wouldn’t mind it over much— _trying_ I mean—if she was still stalking celebrities and stirring up drama in Hollywood about a million miles from Cha…from _me_.  But I’m here just starting to figure things out, get everything together, and she’s…”

“What things have you figured out then, Patty?”

Eyes flickered to Salem, and Patrick huffed out a laugh, “Because you don’t already know?”

And if _that_ didn’t get a wide smile to start splitted across Salem’s face, nothing ever would. Patrick rolled his eyes and slapped Salem’s arm in a wordless gesture meant to tell him to stop gloating, but he didn’t. He _wouldn_ _’_ _t_.  As long as he’d been going on about what Patrick had only just realized, Salem deserved to gloat for as long as he wanted and _then_ some.  Huffing out a painful, humorless laugh, Patrick sat down on the floor of the Javits Center, head resting in the palm of his upturned hand with a painful twist to his lips.

“Do you know why my sister came back to London?”  Salem looked around and found the line unmoving so he sat down on the floor across from him and quirked an eyebrow.  “Because she was _so_ successful at her job in LA that she got sued by two dozen celebrities—people I _know_ —in the span of three years. She.  Is.  Tenacious.”  He spat the words like a curse and shook his head while Salem sent Bailey a quick text message.

 **Salem:** MY BABIES ARE ON THE VERGE OF A BREAKTHROUGH!!!!!!

 **Bailey:** Wut r u evn on abt??

 **Salem:** :D

“She used to, apparently, according to the barrister that my mother hired with _my_ money to get the charges dropped and the issue sorted, she used to institute herself into people’s lives under pseudonyms, get close to them and then write these huge human interest pieces on their lives. She went through personal belongings, hacked emails and mobiles, and when she couldn’t get close enough Maggie used to bride their friends.”

Forcing a smile and shaking his head, Patrick met Salem’s eyes and bit his lip self-consciously before admitting, “My sister, Maggie… _Margaret_ Leona Gallagher, is an absolute psycho. And the worst part is that I’ve known Maggie for a long time, know her better than anyone…including her husband, I suppose.  She’s always been a nightmare, always needed to _know_ everything. Maggie’s not the usual pap.  She doesn’t do this for money, isn’t tenacious because she needs it, and doesn’t work for the rags because she failed at her chosen journalism career.  She does this because he _wants_ to.  And that makes it worse, I think.”

Salem couldn’t relate, not when his own family was singularly spectacular, but he reached out and grasped his best friend’s best friend’s hand in his own.  “Your sister’s not your fault, and if she ever becomes an issue to…any one of our acquaintances I’m not above playing my own hand.  You get me?”

Patrick pressed his lips together and shook his head frantically, looking more like he was fighting laughter than being appaled by the words coming out of Salem’s mouth.  “I’m not going to tell Charlie that you said that.”

Nodding sagely, Salem admitted, “That’s probably for the best.  I think he might actually kill me if I get myself arrested by Interpol again, which means he probably wouldn’t be happy about the arrangement I struck with Harry Benton-Sterling in exchange for his help with Daiki Company’s PR.”

“What did you—?”

Putting a finger to his lips, Salem shook his head: “Plausible deniability, Patty.  That’s the name of the game. I would never put you in a position like that.”

His head dropped into his hands as he groaned.  “Oh God, why?”

At the chime of both their phones, Patrick and Salem glanced down at their screens and laughed in tandem.

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

@Salem_Daiki how is it that ur 5000km and still manage to torture me?

The line started moving, and they both hopped to their feet and moved with it; Patrick smirked knowingly at Salem as he murmured, “You’re both so married.  It’s a bit of a miracle you haven’t been outed yet.  God help Cris and Iri they have the same damn problem.”

“They’re coming out, though,” Salem replied as he typed out his reply.

“In _time_.  Under Harry’s direction, but if they don’t cool it they’ll out themselves before their PR team has a chance to.”

“And control’s important?”  Salem paused to look up, frowning in concern.

Patrick shrugged, “Public sympathy is important. That’s what PR does.  It warms up your audience to the idea that it’s possible, generates sympathy—empathy, even—and gets the public on your side. _That_ _’_ _s_ how you come out effectively.”

“You seem like you’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“I’m an moron—like _you_ —not oblivious.”

 _That_ seemed both debatable and highly unlikely, but Salem decided not to call him on it.

“Did you get your boyfriend a gift?”

Salem frowned and nodded, “I bought him the complete series collection of _Popeye the Sailor_.”

Mouth dropping open in surprise, Patrick turned back to face Salem fully.  “You didn’t.”

“I did,” he couldn’t quite manage to hide his smile as he tipped his head to the side innocently and continued, “I also got him a signed copy of James Cameron’s original, edited draft of _Avatar_ when we met to consult on the technology mock-ups for the fourth installment and got an advanced copy of the film…but I’m going to see how long he bitches about _Popeye_ before I pony-up.”

“He’s gonna kill you one day, and I won’t even be surprised.”

Shrugging with a grin, Salem admitted, “Yeah, but I bet it’ll be a really great death so…”

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

@ArthurBailey it’s called teasing, and don’t you have a gym to be working out in? Also :P

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest I'm not a huge fan of comic-con. It's fun, but I guess I just had super high expectations since I went to Star Wars fest first. And let me just say Star Wars fest is fucking amazing.
> 
> This is where I confess I've never read Interview with a Vampire. I read part of one of Anne Rice's books, didn't like it, never picked up another, but one of my friends is an avid reader of hers and constantly bitches about the missed opportunity between Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt's characters in the movie.
> 
> Also Patrick and Charlie. I'm so reluctant to write a full story about them just because they're so adorable I'm terrified I'd fuck it up.
> 
> I'm going to post every week day until I finish unless I fall ridiculously behind, but it's not likely. I'm almost done writing this story I believe. On my end, I have maybe six or seven more chapters. Approximately. And I've just gotten to the crazy part ^.^ I'm so excited.


	42. "A Little Party Never Killed Nobody" by Fergie, Q-Tip, GoonRock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At her brother's wedding, Caroline gives Bailey a reality check. Salem and Bailey discuss the future

**Cris Emerson and boyfriend?!**

It's been a little over a month since the idea of Cris Emerson, member of acclaimed British boyband, announced being with a man was even as possibility, and while the idea is hot enough, no one seriously seemed to consider it truly possible until...well last night.  Breaking Fourth celebrated the end of their Have Hope Tour by attending a Halloween party near NYU last night along with the band's opening act and Emerson's ex-girlfriend, Beatrice Learner, as well as his best friend, Irial Dorian. Crissy's secret long-term girlfriend has been a toss up between Bea and Dorian's former flatmate and band songwriter, Rosie Ireland, since Crissy announced someone even owned the boybander's heart. Turns out his 'pansexuality' wasn't a cry for attention after all; Beatrice Learner posted a video on Keek late last night of the highly intoxicated boybander (dressed as Wonder Woman) snogging (and groping) someone decidedly male.  We've yet to get confirmation of just _who_ the mystery guy is or even if he's the rumored 'love of Emerson's life' as the band partied early into the morning despite returning to the UK today, but we'd settle for just having a sex tape.  Just that snog got us hot.

 

**Sebastian Bonfils (@prettyboyBas)**

Getting married to the love of my life in 14 days #byebyebachelorhood #soexcited

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

@prettyboyBas you technically waved goodbye to bachelorhood when you started dating, right? You better have!

 

**Group MMS with Max, Salem, and Charlie**

**Salem:** Are you nervous?

**Max:** Shut up.

**Charlie:** Just don’t throw up on him at the wedding…or Salem. Choose Bas over Sale if you have to. Bas’ll bitch less.

**Max:** Lmfao this is true.

**Salem:** I’ll video it either way

**Max:** Imma be this much of a pain in the ass when it’s YOU getting married.

**Salem:** What is with everyone and this marriage thing? No. This is not a Disney movie.

 

**Jorge Maldonado (@Jorge87Official)**

@ArthurBailey how did you manage to rip the FIFA World Cup from my fingers? You were so slow today.

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

@Jorge87Official I’m going to go ahead and blame this one on @carey_me_home @Kanani_Pahala @Salem_Daiki also how long will you keep with the FIFA thing?

 

**Carey Ahearn (@carey_me_home)**

@ArthurBailey not me! This one’s on @Bennyboy9 and his extreme ‘welcome home’ party for @TalRoland #justsaying #iaminnocent

* * *

Caroline Bonfils leaned against the table, looking her usual elegant self with her dark, short locks twisted up in a suave yet casual updo and managing to look beautiful even in the burgundy, chiffon bridesmaid dress Sebastian had somehow managed to force her into.  A champagne flute dangled precariously from her French manicured fingertips, and her smoky eyes narrowed Bailey as he sidled up to the buffet table with a plate in hand and reluctance to engage his team’s rabid publicist undoubtedly on his face.

Bailey doubted that there’d ever be a time when Caroline Bonfils _didn_ _’_ _t_ scare him.

Years from now, after retirement, he’d probably still cringe and review his list of public sins over in his head when he caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye at some kind of party.  That seemed to be the general effect that she had on every man except Rafa who still chased after her, panting and focused.  It would be cute if it wasn’t simultaneously terrifying as most days Bailey felt absolutely convinced that she might slit Rafa’s through on a moment’s notice if the man looked at her wrong.

Not that it mattered, as many months as it had been and Rafa was still not talking to Bailey, and Carey was still telling him that Rafa’s mood would pass as long as Bailey gave it time.

Maybe Bailey would feel more inclined if he knew what this mysterious ‘it’ was that had snuck in when he wasn’t looking and obliterated one friendship he thought he’d be able to rely on forever.

For his own peace of mind, Bailey had decided not to look into his friend’s erratic, out-of-the-blue behavior, he’d let it pass, wallowed in anger, and found himself coldly resigned to the treatment he’d been receiving.  At this point, he wasn’t sure he’d _want_ to reconcile should that ever be an option.  After over a year of being treated like scum—and his admittedly immature temper tantrum on the pitch when Rafa had mentioned offhandedly that Bailey could be playing with more energy and better teamwork—Bailey didn’t want to care anymore, didn’t want to leave himself vulnerable to that kind of emotional abuse again.

Best not.

In any case, Bailey hadn’t seen Caroline beyond quick glimpses in the halls outside the locker rooms before and after games since he’d gotten himself into trouble back when him and Salem weren’t talking.  After all, she’d witnessed his best friend—his _boyfriend_ —committing a felony on his behalf and had barely batted an eyelash beyond a stupefied ‘that’s illegal.’  She was entitled to a cooling off period, and, more truthfully, Bailey had no interest in answering questions about Salem’s less than legal extracurriculars.  It was bad enough he got the fifth degree from Charlie every time they were in the same room together.

Eyeing Caroline with trepidation, Bailey stepped up to the buffet table with a salad plate, spooning a variety of the hors d’oeuvres on it while Caroline watched him silently, her presence like a weighty cloud hanging over his head.

Bailey barely liked these kinds of social events as it was, having his team publicist trailing him with that kind of singleminded intensity hardly helped the situation.

He glanced over at her as she sipped some of the bubbly liquid from her champagne flute, her eyes still locked on Bailey and her long nails tapping incessantly against the glass. Her date, a massive, brolic black man that Bailey felt fairly confident was a successful professional boxer, was nowhere to be seen, providing not even the decent distraction of unnecessary small talk.  Really, he was just fishing now, looking for a way out of this, but none seemed to be available. How absolutely unfortunate.

Sighing, Bailey glanced over at Caroline and nodded.  “ _Bonjour_ Caroline.”

“Arthur Bailey,” Caroline responded, skipping straight over social nicities to go straight for the jugular.  “Let me see if I have this straight.” He pursed his lips together and rocked back on the balls of his feet, trying to not feel cowed by the woman in front him.  Petite as Caroline seemed, Bailey had no doubt she could kick his ass any time she so chose, and he’d be too terrified to stop her. “You came to my brother’s wedding with the boyfriend you’re now living with that you’re supposed to be pretending you don’t have because you’re a professional footballer to…make my life harder?”

Bailey rolled his eyes. “It’s not like we’ve been all over each other, Caroline.  Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?”

“No,” Caroline retorted frankly, “no, me being a little dramatic would be me pulling a Rinaldo on your ass, finding you another model beard, and getting her knocked up to prove your hetero-masculinity.”

“That would be a bit of an overreaction,” Bailey pointed out before feeling forced to add.  “I’m pretty sure Rinadlo also did that because he _wanted_ a child. I…don’t.”

The long-suffering, ‘you know nothing Jon Snow’ look that Caroline leveled him with made Bailey shut his mouth decisively and offer her a shaky smile. Huffing and rolling her eyes, Caroline continued as if he hadn’t spoken, which was the general way Caroline operated around everyone except maybe Salem and Harry Benton-Sterling.

Plucking a cheese ball off of Bailey’s plate and popping it in her mouth, Caroline raised her eyebrows in surprise at the taste and nodded. She picked up a napkin and dabbed around her mouth daintily before turning back to Bailey.  “The _point_ to this story is that you’re not on social media nearly as much as Arsenal’s PR department is.  I’m the one who read what people are saying and thinking.  Not.  You.”

“People think I’m fucking Salem?”

“Yes,” Caroline hissed.

Bailey shrugged, “It’s nice to know the public isn’t as gullible as I thought they were.” Caroline glowered at him, and Bailey shifted uncomfortably but shrugged once again, “I _am_ fucking Salem.”

“How are you so blasé about this!”  She snapped at him.  “Being a gay footballer in the English Premier League is a career killer.  Even Rinaldo knew that.”

Nodding blithely, Bailey put down his food to study her seriously.  “So, what you want if for me to be massively concerned—borderline paranoid—about the possibility of mine and Salem’s relationship being outed.  That’s what you’re saying, right?”

“Yes!”

“That’s really no way to live.  Isn’t it bad enough that my family is trying to drag me through the mud because I won’t visit my ailing mother who’s using her own death as campaigning tactic for my father?”  And, okay, that might have been some heavy emotional manipulatin, but Bailey wasn’t above it when it came to standing toe to toe with Caroline.

Caroline huffed and slammed her champagne flute down on the table to cross her arms over her chest and glare at Bailey.  He raised his eyebrows, expression stony as he tossed a calamari into his mouth with a cheeky grin that only made her narrow her eyes further.

“Wow, okay, I leave you alone for ten minutes and you almost start World War III with your publicist,” Salem remarked as he sidled up in a suit for the groomsmen that perfectly complimented the bridesmaids dresses. He’d been Max’s best man to Caroline being Bastian’s maid of honor and had spent a ridiculous twenty percent of his speech discussing the importance of gender neutral wedding terminology in ‘this ever-evolving world.’

Bailey had tuned out halfway through and started playing Words With Friends against Alina Rosen. Bastian, really, had been the only one even mildly interested.

“What’s the problem, Hoss?” Salem asked Caroline as he swiped a cheese ball off Bailey’s plate, beaming at him when Bailey glared at him.

“The problem,” Caroline enunciated clearly, making Salem raise his eyebrows and look sideways at Bailey in surprise “is the pair of you being so fucking obvious.”

Salem sighed, “Is this about the fanfiction?”

Blinking in shock, Bailey turned to Salem, “Fanfiction?”

“This is not about the fanfiction. How the hell do you even _know_ about that?”

“Irial,” Salem nodded sagely, “we’ve been sending fanfiction we find about the other back and forth for at least a month.”  He turned to met Bailey’s eyes, “They’re _really_ dirty.  I wouldn’t recommend them for your delicate sensibilities.”

“My _what_?”  Bailey demanded, appalled.

Salem laughed, and Caroline sighed at their antics.  “ _This_ is the kind of thing that I mean, you two are so…married when you go out in public. It’s almost worse than if you were pawing all over each other.”

“I don’t think us being domestic is worse than us being…well…” Salem looked to Bailey.

“ _Affectionate_ ,” Bailey nodded while Salem cocked his head and frowned.

“Okay, not the word I would have used, but we’ll go with affectionate. It’s nicer.”

Caroline threw her hands up and pointed between the pair of them.  “The two of you are going to make me go prematurely gray.  I swear. _Mon Dieu_ , how did I get stuck with _both_ of you?  I could handle Bailey when he was running around shagging popstars under the radar—” Bailey’s eyes widened at that offhanded reference to Cris that he hadn’t even been aware she’d _known_ about while Salem bit back laughter at his expense, reaching out a hand to comfort him before stilling and drawing it back as he realized where they were.  A cold feeling went through Bailey as he watched Salem try to settle his flustered face out of the corner of his eye.  “—but, heaven help me, at least Cris Emerson was _discreet_. This is just ridiculous. How long do you think it’ll be until the press start asking me about the pair of you?  Because I’ve gotten jokes and inneuendo already, and I’d rather not deal with outright rabid tenacity.”

Salem seemed discomforted by her words, and Bailey’s hackles rose automatically.  He shifted closer to his partner and raised his eyebrows at Caroline. “Maybe you should call up Rinaldo’s agent and start exchanging notes.”

She shot him a sharp look, “I’d better not _have to_ , Arthur Bailey.”

“Do I look like a fortune teller?”  He returned coldly.

“I might actually kill you,” Caroline remarked, her eyes shifting heavenward like she was praying for the patience not to.

Bailey wasn’t concerned, and Salem seemed to have shaken himself out of whatever mood he’d found himself in before, tossing Caroline a shallow smile. “No worries.  I’m friends with Harry Benton-Sterling.”

“You’re not,” Caroline gaped.

“I am.” Salem smirked triumphantly. “And colleagues, of a sort. We have a quid pro quo arrangement between us that it’s best you not know too much about.” Her eyebrows rose while he just shrugged and leaned forward to lift up Bailey’s salad plate of half-eaten appetizers.  “Receptions are so boring. Can we go eat?”

“Can I have another glass of wine?”

Salem narrowed his eyes on Bailey who tried to will his flushed cheeks to lighten and his bloodshot eyes to return to their original state.  Bailey had had about three glasses already and teetered more on the buzzed side of tipsy.  He quirked an eyebrow, “I don’t really think that’s—”

Caroline snorted, “God help us all when you two get married.”

Salem and Bailey both turned to gape at her, and Salem turned to face Bailey.  “Yeah, okay, get me a vodka.  Straight. While you’re over there.”

Fifteen minutes later, they both crashed out in an empty hallway far enough away for the people and action of the reception to seem distant but close enough to still hear the music pouring out of the reception hall.  Side-by-side, they sat cross-legged on the floor with their backs pressed against the wall as they picked off of Bailey’s plate and took turns sipping each other’s drinks.  They were both tipsy enough that if anyone caught them, the whole thing could be explained as platonic drunkness but the comfortable intimacy in the act belayed that.

“Everyone keeps saying we’re going to get married,” Bailey spoke finally. “We never talked about it.”

“I didn’t think you wanted to get married,” Salem remarked, his jade eyes locking on Bailey as he sipped his vodka.

And there it was.

Salem knew him.

Bailey didn’t want to get married, had never really. His own parent’s marriage had colored his opinion on the whole institution and what he’d seen of it hadn’t made anything any better.  It worked for some people, he supposed, like his maternal grandparents who were blissfully happy and utterly committed to each other even now or for Tal and Benedikt who managed despite their hectic schedules and radically different lives.

Most days, though, the bad seemed to outweigh the good.  Besides, it didn’t seem to do anyone in his industry any favors.

“Do you?”

Salem couldn’t quite manage to hold back his grimace, and Bailey smiled as he noted it.  Shaking his head, Salem admitted, “I could be blissfully happy being like my mom and Damien for the rest of our lives. I just…I get why people think marriage is so important.”

Bailey frowned, “Well that’s a lie.”

“I…” Salem colored and smiled as he nodded his head, “Okay, yeah, that’s a lie.  I don’t need a boring ceremony, a gathering of our two hundred closest friends and family, and a piece of paper to know that I love you and I’m committed to you.  I don’t know, especially in your industry, it just seems like a recipe for disaster or a bad omen, like getting someone’s name tattooed on you.  That never ends well.”

“Are you saying you wouldn’t get my name tattooed on you if I asked?” Bailey challenged playfully.

Salem scoffed, “No, because I actually want you to stick around.  I swear, it’s the kiss of death.”  Bailey laughed while Salem shook his head.  “I’d rather not get married, but if it’s something you want, I’d be open to it.”

Bailey held up hands, “Okay, Irial, calm it down.”  Salem barked out a shocked laugh while Bailey rolled his eyes. “I’m not, like, appeasing you, Salem.  We’re on the same page with this. No marriage.”

“No children?”

Bailey grimaced, “We’d make great uncles?”

“I’m not a fan either, but I’m not averse.  Besides, no offense but you’re twenty.  It’s probably be better to table this discussion for a later date.”

“I don’t think I’m going to change my mind.”  Salem gave Bailey a doubtful look, and Bailey flicked him, the two of them falling into comfortable silence.  Cocking his head, Bailey peeked over at Salem, “I might be willing to get a cat in like five years when I think you’re dependable enough to handle that kind of responsibility.”

Salem dissolved into laughter, “Oh my God, fuck off, why do we even let you talk?”

Bailey met his eyes and grinned while Salem rolled his and snapped a picture of them that was so cute it was worth the tongue-lashing they received from Caroline that night for posting it on Instagram.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll confess I'm that evil person that hates weddings. Even free food, decent music, and often times free drinks do not make up for how bored I get at weddings. Hands down.
> 
> It's about time they had a serious discussion about this. They won't be getting married, if no one saw this coming. I considered it, but they're not really the type and frankly at least within the confines of this story they'll have other things to deal with.
> 
> Rafa and Bailey are going to talk over why he's such an asshole in an upcoming chapter I finished writing just the other day, and it'll come up again in the last few chapters.


	43. "Cheyenne" by Jason Derulo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A family Christmas becomes a FAMILY Christmas

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

@DorianII your boyfriend is so incapable of chill #yesisawtheinterview

 

**Irial Dorian (@DorianII)**

@Salem_Daiki I know it was fucking adorable :D

 

To: kingarthurb@gmail.co.uk

Cc: wildechild@gmail.co.uk

From: crossesoflead@gmail.co.uk

Subject: Wedding

So I kind of announced my engagement on national television, which is still almost better than how I announced my engagement to my band…and my family. You will actually get an invitation in the mail, but I’m asking you to come to my wedding in March.

Please Bailey,

Cris

(And Irial)

(but you can ignore him he’s being a bum)

 

 **Text message** **to** **Костя**

 **Мама:** Damien and I have decided to come up for xmas

 **Костя:** I’m not saying no but you could ask

 **Костя:** Just a thought

 **Костя:** I don’t live alone.

 **Мама:** I asked Arthur. He says it’s fine.

 **Костя:** omfg you ASKED him already?????

 **Мама:** Some people actually talk to their parents.

 **Костя:** He’s not your son!!!!

 **Мама:** Isn’t he, though?

 

**Alina Rosen dating Arsenal’s star forward?**

After meeting in August at the opening of the Daiki Company’s flagship store in London, popstar Alina Rosen of pop band, Azadi, and Arsenal forward, Arthur Bailey, haven’t stopped talking.  A source close to the popstar said, “Alina really likes Arthur. She thinks he’s a gentleman, and they have a lot in common.  They’ve been talking for the last four months on and off and are both just really enjoying the casual banter they have going on.” Bailey is in the middle of his fifth season with Arsenal and dealing with his mother’s terminal pancreatic cancer. Azadi is set to release their third studio album December 15th.

 

**Text message to Salem**

**Bailey:** Waaaaaaaaatttttt? Hahahahahahaha. Alina.

 

**Text message to Bailey**

**Alina:** I’m so sorry.

 **Alina:** Also what the fuck.

 **Alina:** Also merry almost xmas. Be nice to Sale and let there be MSG in his dinner.

* * *

The doorbell rang halfway through _The Grinch_ and while Tasha had started up her second round of extreme cursing as _Christmas Shoes_ played in the background and what had been an attempt as herb-dusted roast chicken sat in the blackened mess, smouldering and very, very inedible.

Bailey perched out the kitchen island cross-legged, eyes narrowed on his boyfriend’s infuriated mother. Salem’s laptop sat beside him with Salem leaning over the island countertop as he typed, occasionally looking from the screen to glance up at his mother with barely disguised amusement that quickly had him turning his attention back to whatever calculation or blueprint he was running through his software.  Damien stood off to the side, clearing up the remnants of the attempt, trying to soothe Tasha to no avail.

Catriona—who’d ditched her girlfriend for Christmas when she’d heard they’d be spending the whole of the holidays with her family in Hawaii (“a hot, sunny, psychotic planet I literally cannot escape from”)—had abandoned Tasha to her workings an hour ago, to crash out on the couch with Georgia, who’d stopped over without knowing Tasha would be in the neighborhood.

Salem looked from his mother to his stepfather at the sound of the doorbell and nodded, not commenting on the stubborn yet defeated look on his mother’s face. “That’ll be the Chinese. I’ll just go grab that.”

“Because I almost burned down your house.  Son of a bitch,” Tasha huffed while Bailey stifled laughter.

“Oh, come on, it’s not _that_ bad,” Damien offered.

“The fire alarm went off,” Tasha snapped.

“But the fire department didn’t come.”

Bailey nodded his head and popped an After Eight mint into his mouth.  “They’re striking,” he informed Damien cheerfully, eyes widening when Tasha sent him a poisonous glare and Damien shook his head in disappointment.  “What? Someone’s _always_ striking in London.”

Shaking his head and pulling the wonky, cheetah print Santa claus hat more firmly onto his head, Salem went to the door, opening it with an easy smile that froze in place when he catalogued just to who exactly stood on his doorway.

Not the deliveryman, that was for damn sure.

“I…” Salem started, unsure when he was quickly cut off.

“Oh, you’re here.”

“I live here,” he returned, steadying himself as he narrowed his eyes on his boyfriend’s impertinent father.  “What are you all doing here?”

“Looking for my son,” James replied.  “His mother’s condition is deteriorating, and she’s decided that she wants to spend what could be her last Christmas with her family and not in the hospital being poked, prodded, and tested by doctors.”

Salem frowned with a slight smile on his face, cocking his head.  “Susannah’s _here_?”

“She’s in the car with Jamie, Rhiannon, and the kids,” James sniffed imperiously.  “I certainly was not going to allow my ailing wife to stand out on her son’s doorway in the cold should he chose to continue breaking her heart. It’s bad enough she’s forced him to abandon her traditions and routines to cater to his attitude.”

“Right,” Salem forced himself to bite back the retort at the tip of his tongue.  That after the previous year’s disaster even the idea of going to his parent’s house for Christmas had filled him with dread. Bailey hadn’t even opened the email they’d sent about it; instead, he’d had Salem reply with a terse no and delete the email entirely.  And with the drama they’d put Bailey through and the mud they’d dragged him through to defend why their celebrity younger son hadn’t shown up to pay vigil at his mother’s very public bedside, not even the thought that it might be Susannah’s last Christmas had been enough to make Bailey feel like he ought to go to another family Christmas dinner, a dinner that had gotten Jamie, Rhiannon, and company to come down all the way from Moscow.  “I’ll have to check Bailey.”

James snorted derisively, “I thought you _lived_ here.”

“Yes, but you’re not _my_ douchenozzle family members, so it won’t be _my_ Christmas you’re ruining.”

“Don’t speak to my father like that,” Katie snapped, quieting immediately when her father put a hand on her arm.

“Kostya, is that food at the door?”  His mother called out from behind, stilling as her eyes locked on James.

“And who are you?” Katie demanded imperiously.

His mother’s eyebrows rose, her hands going to her hips as her eyes skimmed over the well-dressed trio standing in her doorway: disdainful James, feral Katie, and stoic Tom. “I’m invited.  Who are _you_?”

“The family of the boy who owns this house,” James returned.

Tasha huffed, eyes going first to Salem who gritted his teeth and offered his mother a tight smile. She rolled her eyes and called for Bailey over her shoulder, and he appeared in seconds, a smile still on his lips as he called back absently to Damien.  He stilled, the look dying quickly as he took in his family standing in his doorway.

“Dad. Katie.  What are you doing here?”

“Your mother would like us all to be together on her last Christmas.”

Bailey swallowed, a guilty look crossing his face, and Salem fought back his own resposne to James’s cutting remark.  It didn’t matter anyway; Bailey would take the words to heart and wear that shame and guilt the way his family had made him carry his sexuality and his career for years. He’d tell Bailey regardless, reassure him when his family wouldn’t be around to rebuke and undercut the truth or Bailey’s feelings, latching onto that vulnerability in him and sucking him dry.

“I have company,” Bailey told his father pointedly, his back straightening.  Tasha put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed reassuringly, and he tossed her a thankful glance.  “You can all come in if you want, but I have other people here. I have other people.” Some of the weight seemed to shift from her shoulders as he said those words, and Salem smiled at his boyfriend but kept his mouth shut, letting him fight this battle himself as he swung his gaze back to Katie and James, Tom being more of a doormat in his personal life than he was in his controversial and xenophobic politics.

“Fine,” James forced out, spinning around on his heel to go to the triage of cars loitering on the curb outside the house.

Tasha pressed a kiss to Bailey’s cheek.  “I’ll go tell Damien to order some more food.”

 

Salem was a little disappointed to learn _Elf_ couldn’t magically make tension disappear.  Topher and Alice, Rhiannon and Jamie’s kids, didn’t seem to notice it as the nibbled on chicken nuggets, fries, and the occasional eggroll, which was the closest the seemed willing to get after Bailey offered to steam some kale for them. It had been a joke at Salem’s expense, but they seemed so terrified no one had offered them another vegetable since.

The adults, though, couldn’t help but be painfully aware of the excess emotion in the room.

Rhiannon, Jamie, and Catriona had decided to separate themselves from the entire situation, retreating to the far side of the room to watch the movie over wine glasses and a heated game of Jurassic World Monopoly.  Tasha seemed like she’d like to insinuate herself into whatever drama was coming, but Damien had pulled her away to fiddle with Salem’s laptop while Tom peered over his shoulder curiously, Salem wincing every time Damien touched the screen too hard.

Susannah cleared her throat delicately as she finished picking at her spicy prawns and white rice. Twisting her fingers in the napkin to clean them, she leaned back against the couch hardly looking much different than before rounds of aggressive chemo and radiation than a little bedraggled and exhausted.  Of course, her makeup was impeccable, her wig expensive, and her moisturizer spectacular.

“It’s nice to see you despite it seeming intentional that we haven’t up until this point.” Susannah remarked primely.

Salem’s lips curled into a sneer at her imperious, accusatory tone.  He rested his hand on Bailey’s knee in wordless support but didn’t speak, sipping his coke and vodka to keep his own mouth shut.

Bailey huffed out a quiet laugh, “Of course I want to see my terminal mother when she’s supposedly laid up in a hospital suffering and on her deathbed, but I told you what it would take to get me there.  I don’t think sending away the cameras is too much to ask.”

“You had no right to ask it,” Katie snapped.

“If your mother wants to document the effects of pancreatic cancer—”

“My mother,” Bailey scoffed, “is only ever a philanthropist when it suits the pair of you.”

“How dare you?” Susannah snapped furiously.

James put a hand on his wife’s thigh and glared at his son, “That’s no way to speak of the woman who raised you.”

Bailey scowled and shook his head, “My boarding school raised me.  All you had to do was a sign a check, which—last time I checked—didn’t actually count as ‘child rearing.’”

“I am your _mother_ ,” Susannah hissed at Bailey, irate.

“Now that it suits you,” he returned, eyes flashing with contempt that Salem doubted he even knew he possessed towards his parents.  He was so dispassionate, so removed from everything and everyone that it must come as a surprise that he held onto to lingering bitterness from the…unconventional upbringing that he’d had.

“How can you do this to our mother?” Katie demanded.

Bailey shook his head, lips pressed together tightly.  James held up a hand to silence Katie, and she lapsed into it automatically. Salem looked between the two of them and couldn’t quite manage to hide his disgust with the whole Bailey family’s operating procedure.  “You had no right to drag our family matters into the press.”

“ _You_ did that,” Salem blurted.

James didn’t even look at him, keeping his eyes on Bailey as he said spitefully, “Just because you’re fucking my son—” Tasha made a move to go over to him when Damien’s hand reached out to hold her back.  The kids both looked up from the television screen and back at the grandfather.  “—does not mean you—”

“Dad,” Jamie interrupted.

“Okay, come along,” Rhiannon hopped up with Catriona close on her heels as they hussled the children out of the room.

“He’s not _fucking_ me,” Bailey snapped when the kids were gone, whirling on his father and mother angrily.  “We’re dating. He’s my partner. We live together. In an actual relationship that isn’t devoted to press junkets or destroying everyone around us.”

“God, do you even hear yourself?”  Katie stood up and advanced on her brother.  “What is wrong with you?”

“What is wrong with this whole family?”  Bailey stood, meeting his sister toe to toe.  “Do you know how hard it is to love you?  Let alone respect you.  All this family does is use each other and destroy each other.  You think I’m okay with mum _dying,_ with her suffering—because you can put on a wig and a shit ton of foundation but it doesn’t hide the pain in your eyes or the way you’ve held your body as still as possible through the whole of dinner and only picked at your food. I’ve been to enough GPs, hospitals, and physical therapy appointments to know what pain looks like.”

“Enough, Arthur, you made your point,” Susannah offered softly, a defeated sigh in her voice as she relaxed into the couch cusions.

“Do you want another glass of wine Mrs. Bailey?” Salem asked with as much gentleness as he could muster for the woman who’d given birth to his boyfriend if even she hadn’t helped him much beyond giving birth and putting him in a decent school.

“That would be great, Salem,” Susannah replied half-heartedly.  Reaching forward, Salem took the wineglass and refilled it almost to the brim with red wine before handing it back, completely ignoring the showdown going on right in front of his face.

Bailey shook his head, “I’m tired of being used for this family’s political gain.  That’s how it’s been for our entire lives.”

“This family gave you everything,” James hissed at his son.

Salem crossed his arms over his chest and stayed close to Susannah’s side, looking over at her. “How have you been? You’ve lasted longer than anyone expected for pancreatic cancer.  Did you have a Charlotte Phelan moment,” at her dumb look, Salem clarified, “ _The Help_. She had cancer in the 60s and looked at her daughter and said ‘I’ve decided not to die’ and she didn’t.”

“Would you believe that I didn’t want to die without seeing my youngest?” Susannah breathed as she took a sip of her wine.

Offering her a smile, Salem shook his head and admitted, “No.”

Susannah nodded at that without seeming the slightest bit offended, countering with a half-shrug and another sip of her wine.  “A couple of aggressive and invasive surgeries.  Long, hard hours of chemo and radiation.  The best treatment and medicine that money can buy.  It’s been better than I suspect it would for—”

“Peasants?” Salem raised his eyebrows with a smirk.

“ _Laymans_ ,” Susannah corrected, though Salem didn’t think that word was really any better than the original word.

“ _I_ got myself where I am!”  Bailey shouted, “Your name might have helped Jamie get into politics and guaranteed Katie a spot on the Olympic team, but no one in football cares about me being a politician’s son. I had to work my arse off to get where I am, and it sure as fuck had nothing to do with you and this family! The whole world does not revolve around you.”

“Artie,” Jamie cautioned him gently, his eyes going to Salem who shook his head.

“This is about your mother!” James retorted.

“No!  No!”  Bailey held up a hand, “This is _still_ about _your career_!  I may not _like_ either of you very much, but I do _love_ both you, though I absolutely wish I didn’t.  My mother is _dying_.  It’s amazing she’s lived as long as she has.  You think I haven’t learned a thing or two about the way the pair of you operate after all these years?  All I needed was for the cameras to go away, and she would have done it if _you_ hadn’t wanted them there because that’s _always_ been how this family operates!  I _can’t_ do cameras.  I _don’t want_ to deal with your political career!  But even with mum _dying_ you couldn’t be bothered to care about what anyone else needed!”

Tasha sat down on Salems’s other side, throwing an arm around his shoulders and pressing a kiss to his temple.  “Your parties are never boring, Kostya.”  She leaned around Salem to study Susannah intently; Susannah inclined her wineglass in greeting, and in spite of the smile Tasha pasted on her face, Salem knew she wasn’t impressed by what she saw.  “I’m Salem’s mother, Natasha.”

“I’m—”

Tasha nodded, baring her teeth, “I know.”

“You shouldn’t talk to dad like that!”  Katie snapped at Bailey.

“Maybe we should all cool it,” Jamie started.  Bailey opened her mouth to yell at Katie and his father again when Jamie whistled and shook his head at both of them, getting in the middle of it with both hands out to ward the pair of them off.  “This is supposed to be family Christmas, yeah?  We’ve got kids here.  It’s mum’s homecoming…sort of.  It’s the first time the whole family’s been together since last year.  Let’s just…” Jamie trailed off suggestively, seeming to hope that his family would take the bait.

Bailey didn’t seem ready to back down, and Salem looked between his boyfriend and his family before reaching out to catch Bailey’s hand and tug lightly enough to get his attention. Bailey looked back at him, and Salem smiled slightly.  “Jamie’s right, Bay.”

“They—” Bailey started helplessly, and Salem nodded, “I know, but this isn’t about them. This is about you.”

He fell silent and nodded, plopping himself down on the floor at Salem’s feet and leaning his head back against his knees while Salem carded his fingers through Bailey’s hair. Susannah eyed the two of them, her lips just beginning to curl into a sneer before she caught herself and noticed James’s dark, pointed look in her direction.  Susannah cleared her throat and sipped her wine, a thin, shaky hand reaching out to grasped her husband’s as she sat down in the chair beside hers.

Tom finally decided to stop hiding and came up to Katie, pulling her towards the loveseat and smiling at Jamie apologetically.  Jamie didn’t look the slightest bit impressed by that, sighing and looking up at the sound of Rhiannon clearing her throat in the doorway.  “Can we return then?”

“Bring it in,” Salem grinned while Bailey snorted.

Salem glanced around the room at Bailey’s family before leaning into his own mother. It was miracle Bailey had turned out halfway decent, because cancer or not, Susannah was a total bitch, her husband was, well, a politician, and the rest of the family just couldn’t seem to care about anyone more than themselves.  He met Damien’s eyes and smiled slightly as the kids, Catriona, and Rhiannon trickled back into the room grateful that at least the family Bailey had acquired seemed to care.


	44. "Eyes Shut" by Years and Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couples dinner takes a turn

**Text message to Tasha**

**Tasha:** It was lovely meeting your family.

 **Bailey:** is Damien reading this ovr ur shoulder?

 **Tasha:** No…

 **Tasha:** ;)

 **Bailey:** Its fine. U dont have 2 lie

 **Tasha:** They’re a fucking nightmare. If you need anything call.

 **Tasha:** Actually call Damien if it’s between 21:00-6:00

 **Tasha:** Also my mama’s on a different timezone so she might be available

 **Bailey:** I get the point

 **Tasha:** I hope so. We love you.

 

To: salem.petrov@daiki.co.uk

From: harleen.bhattal@daiki.co.uk

Subject: RE: Important information

Salem,

I’m glad you finally got onboard with your own company policy and got a company email, first.

Second, Nihal and I have discussed New York, but as we’ve just uprooted from Punjab and are still closer to family in London than in the States, we’ve decided we’ll operate from these offices and travel as needed while Dane and Regulus make the move to New York. I’ve already sent them an email about it.

Third, she’s asking for a raise again. More like, demanding it. If she needs the money that bad then just give it to her. It’s not like we can’t afford it, and if she’s that bad a PA that you won’t, fire her and hire someone who know what they’re doing. Or get a temp.

Harleen Bhattal Farswhal

CFO, The Daiki Company

 

**Bakar Bengochea (@Bakar04Basque)**

@ArthurBailey is forgetting how to shoot so @Jorge87Official has to take the shot an apology for stealing the World Cup from him?

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

@Bakar04Basque did you really retire because your cognitive and visual capabilities were decling?

 

**Jorge Maldonado (@Jorge87Official)**

@Bakar04Basque @ArthurBailey just lost sight of the point of the game: scoring goals and winning. How did he take my Cup from me?

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

I feel like this might bullying behavior gentlemen -.-

 

**Carey Ahearn (@carey_me_home)**

@ArthurBailey @Bakar04Basque @Jorge87Official @Salem_Daiki agreed! Think of the children!

* * *

 

“What are you doing?”  Bailey breathed into Salem’s ear, pressing against Salem’s back, arms around him, and chin hooked over Salem’s shoulder.  Salem tensed and pushed back against Bailey who bit back a groan, conscious of the other two people in their company as he pressed his mouth against Salem’s neck. “ _That_ doesn’t go into the dressing.”

“Must of slipped my mind,” Salem teased back turning until their faces were inches apart, a wide smile playing over his lips as he leaned forward to give Bailey a peck, followed by another, that turned into a long, lingering kiss.

“Oh my God, my virgin eyes!” A new voice cried, and the pulled back quickly, looking over at Bakar who stood with his hip against his kitchen island and a Corona in his hands.  Bailey could feel Salem grimacing at the label without even looking at him.

Bailey slipped an arm around Salem’s waist, his thumb rubbing against the skin of Salem’s waist as he scoffed at Bakar.  “Your virgin _what_? You haven’t been a virgin since Year Nine.”

Salem glanced beween the two of them while Bakar barked out a startled laugh.  “Year _what_?  This country is bizarre.”

“Actually,” Bakar’s wife, Alisa, remarked as she swept into the room, her hands laden with fresh herbs and spices from the garden she’s planted out in the back behind his house, “that’s not how the Spanish school system is structured so Bakar doesn’t know what he’s chatting about.  And years make about as much sense as grade levels, no?”

Alisa looked the part of a model, exotic and statuesque, with a trim figure, long waves of mahogany hair, and amber eyes, but it was the rest of her that proved how utterly un-modellike the Basque woman truly was.  Bakar had told the pair of them that he’d met Alisa in primary school and lived next door to her for years, but they’d never been more than that until his mother had called him out of the blue when she’d moved to London three years earlier to work in her former mentor’s tattoo parlor in Camden Town before opening her own on the outskirts of Soho.

She couldn’t be further from the type that Bailey had often seen his former football captain dallying with before he’d become so taken with shortly after her moving to the city. Where he’d been seen with flawless, impeccably dressed, women well in the public eye, the only thing Alisa had in common with them was her body structure, beyond that she was tattooed, skilled with her hands, and had a practical skillset that apparently included rudimentary mechanics and street art.  In terms of fashion, the closest he’d come to seeing her in something other than sweatpants, wife beater tops, and harem pants had been at one of Bakar’s New Year’s Eve parties in a lacy H&M cocktail dress and a pair of Converse wedge sneakers, part of her back piece and a full sleeve of her colorful tattoos on display.

It had been Alisa who’d called Bailey out of the blue a week earlier on her husband’s cell phone and invited both him and Salem to come over for a dinner in a hard, imperious tone that brooked no answer other than ‘yes.’  Salem had called her back half an hour later and demanded that they come over early to help the pair of them cook before hanging up so that she couldn’t argue.

“Maybe it’s just the whole of schooling that’s utterly idiotic,” Salem replied, dipping a finger into the Bolognese sauce for a taste.  Bailey snatched his hand and took the finger into his mouth, smiling around it while Salem rolled eyes and slowly pulled the finger from his mouth. He could see Salem forcing himself to keep his face straight as Bailey’s tongue moved over his finger.

“Vulgar,” Bakar called out. “That’s quite enough of that!”

Bailey smiled impishly, and Salem huffed and pressed himself more firmly into Bailey’s side.

“Says the university dropout,” Alisa remarked, swatting Bakar with a hand towel on her way to the oven.

“You didn’t go to a university at all!” Salem retorted.

“School’s a necessary evil,” Bailey commented, pinching Salem’s side and giggling when he yelped, moving in Bailey’s side to jump away from the stinging touch. He beamed, “Like tax returns or watching episodes of _Breaking Bad_.”

“ _Breaking Bad_ was a fantastic show!” Bakar pointed a finger at Bailey, furious and offended.

“ _Breaking Bad_ managed to be boring when they had a drug dealer tied up in the basement torturing him and trying to kill him,” Salem nodded in agreement with Bailey.

Bakar looked to Alisa for help, but she held her hands up in surrender and shook her head. “Honestly, _maitasun_ , I’d rather watch Cricket or _Lords of the Rings_ or to have my eyes plucked out by hordes of crows than to watch episodes of _Breaking Bad_. I’m not going to agree with you on that count.  Check the spaghetti, wouldn’t one of you?”

Bailey nodded and turned, keeping his body pressed against Salem as he stirred the spaghetti and pulled out a noodle.  He winced at the heat coming off it, and Salem turned at the action, resting a hand on Bailey’s lower back and tugging the noodle out of his hand and popping it into his mouth. He scowled, and Bailey laughed, leaning forward to peck his lips, scowl and all.  Salem shook his head, and Bailey pulled back as his mobile vibrated in his pocket, pulling it out and frowning at the name on the screen.

“They’re a little aldente,” Salem remarked, exaggerating his chewing.

“Hello? Katie?”  Bailey asked quietly.

His sister gasped and sobbed, “You…we’re at St. Thomas’s, Artie.  You’d better…she’s…” Katie broke on another sob, and Bailey nodded, feeling like the wind just got knocked out of him.

“Arthur,” Salem’s voice jerked him out of his reverie, and he handed his boyfriend the mobile as he put a hand over his mouth and another to his stomach, struggling to catch his breath and fighting the tears filling his eyes.  Putting a hand on the nape of Bailey’s neck, Salem drew him close, letting Bailey clench his hands in the fabric of his t-shirt and cry onto his shoulder in breathless, gutted sobs that he couldn’t seem to control no matter how much he fought to and in spite of Bakar and Alisa standing in the kitchen with them with an undoubtedly perplexed and disturbed expression.

Salem ran a hand over Bailey hair.

“Yeah, alright, we’ll be there soon.  St. Thomas’s Hospital over on the Thames.  Yes, I know where it is. What room?”

Bailey let Salem talk, barely aware of anything as he cried until he had neither tears nor feeling left in him. Until all he had were dry, reddened eyes and fingers painful from being clenched, a body punished by its mourning.

He held onto Salem, only half aware of the gentle hands guiding him, comforting him as he made indiscipherable goodbyes to Bakar and Alisa.  It was all he could do to allow Salem to herd him out of the house and into the car where Salem buckled him in when he climbed into the driver’s seat. Salem tucked both his and Bailey’s own jackets around his body and cranked on the heat wearing a look of the utmost concern that sent a pang through Bailey’s heart and almost had him breaking into wrecked sobs yet again.

Shaking his head, Bailey managed to choke out, “I’m fine.”

He didn’t _sound_ fine, but Salem didn’t call him on his cracked voice.

“You’re shaking,” Salem replied, pressing a kiss to Bailey’s forehead and then his lips. He ran a hand over Bailey’s face, cupping his cheek and smiling weakly.  “It’s from shock.  I plan on keeping you as warm as possible if it makes any difference.”

“It doesn’t,” Bailey laughed weakly, cringing at he felt more tears welling up in his eyes yet again. Salem nodded his head and ran his thumb over Bailey’s cheekbone.  He smiled blandly, “You’re not going to promise me everything’ll be alright? Or something equally inane.”

“That would be a bullshit lie,” Salem responded with the utmost seriousness, nodding and smiling humorlessly at Bailey.  “I’m here, though, and I’m going to be here whenever you need me, okay?”

Bailey couldn’t help but dissolve into sobs again, nodding his head and pressing a kiss to Salem’s lips. He curled up under the jackets and shifted until he had his nose pressed against the collar of Salem’s, breathing in the scent of the only thing capable of keeping him remotely grounded as he fought through the cloud of numbness descending on him, smothering him.

The first memory Bailey had of his mother was as generally unpleasant as all the rest were.

He’d been nearly five, the summer before going into Year 1, and had run through the garden behind the family home calling for his mother and shrieking with laughter as he’d jumped up and down trying to catch the butterfly flitting around.  His mother had been in the back kitchen, not cooking as _she_ never did that, but taking tea with some of her close friends. His au pair had disappeared to take James and Katie to the toilet, leaving his mother to watch out for her own child. All he’d desired was a little of his mother’s attentions, and instead, he’d gotten her irate and storming out of the house to yell at him to keep his voice down lest he interrupt her friends’ party.

His memories of his mother were never _bad_.

 _Bad_ implied that she’d been around often enough to leave her son with a negative impact.

Susannah had been dismissive, distant, and cold.  She’d been her husband’s beautiful, exotic American trophy wife with poise, grace, and impeccable fashion and the social skills to match.  The woman had been a fabulous entertainer, a wonderful schmoozer, and so busy throwing parties and making friends that she hadn’t the time or energy to bother.

The only time he could ever remember genuine, uncalculated warmth from his mother had been the summer he spent at his grandparent’s ranch in South Dakota.  It had been only a moment, but the moment had touched his heart and held firm, keeping his affections for his mother alive when they otherwise might have weaned and latching onto his heart when he wavered in his regard.

They’d all been there, save for his father who’d been alternatively campaigning and having an affair with a French international law graduate student interning in his office, and Susannah had spent most of her days waking before dawn, mucking all the stalls, and taking her favorite gelding out for long rides that didn’t end until she arrived back at the small, squat ranch house on the outskirts of the reservation just passed dinner.  His grandparents had had them all awake for a family trip, the horses saddled for a day of hard, long riding, expecting their daughter to join, and on most things other than the man she’d married, Susannah had bowed to their wishes.

It had been atop a grassy hill overlooking the herds of horses that their grandparents bred, the warm afternoon sun shining down on all of them, with James and Katie’s roaring laughter ringing through the plains as they raced.  Susannah had beamed, wide and open as her warm chocolate eyes, the same ones he saw in the mirror every day, tracing over the landscape before turning to meet Bailey’s, her smile brightening just a little before she laughed and nudged her gelding into a sprint across the plains.

When Salem had led him into the hospital and to the door of his mother’s room, Bailey froze, grabbing onto Salem and holding him tightly.  His eyes couldn’t meet Salem’s, focusing on the nurse’s station just down the hall.

“What do I say? What do I say to a dying woman I don’t like very much, and who certainly never liked me?”

“That you love her,” Salem answered point blank, “because you do.”

“I’m so angry,” Bailey returned, finally looking to Salem through teary eyes.

Salem nodded and reached out to touch Bailey’s face before he stilled, his hand halfway between them and dropped it.  He took a step forward, though, into Bailey’s personal space, their bodies not quite touching but close enough for him to feel the heated radiating from his body. Salem nodded, “Then tell her that too. Just because she’s dying doesn’t invalidate the way she made you feel for the last twenty years. You still have a minute before she’s deified.  And just because you’re angry doesn’t mean you don’t love her, Bailey.”

Bailey wasn’t so sure, but he nodded and followed when Salem to him to go in.

Taking a deep breath and glancing back at Salem anxiously, Bailey took a step into the room, in all its generic hospital pastel complete with a frail, sickly woman lying on the bed, the machines beeping every few seconds and her grieving daughter sitting at her bedside, gripping her fiance’s hand tightly.  His father stood at the very far side of the room, gnawing on his own bottom lip and staring at the vase of daisies at his wife’s bedside, jaw clenched tightly and fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against his thigh.

Susannah was bone white, her face devoid of makeup for the first time in Bailey’s life, and her dark hair twist up in a messy bun at the top of her head as she tossed back an array of hard candies like…well, like she was dying.  “Ah,” Susannah said as she spotted Bailey, pausing in the doorway, “there’s my youngest.  Here at last.”  Her voice cracked, choked with pain, and she wracked with coughs for a moment before waving Bailey weakly into the room.  “Shame they don’t allow smoking in hospitals anymore or I’d have asked that… _friend_ of yours to share one of his specials cigarettes with me.”

James coughed, and Katie looked appalled as her gaze darted from Susannah to Bailey.  Bailey shrugged one shoulder and shifted uncomfortably. “You mean his marijuana?”

“God, it been an _age_ ,” Susannah moaned before her eyes met Bailey’s.  Forcing a smile, Susannah bit her lip and stifled a moan of pain. “Get out.  Obviously, Bailey wants to speak on a private matter.”

“Mum,” Katie started to disagree as James’s gaze moved to his wife, “Susannah.”

“Out,” Susannah spoke primly, “you’ll have plenty of time to ignore what I want when I’m dead.”

Katie swallowed down her objections with a bitter look and shot Bailey a venomous glare before letting Tom lead her out of the room.  James seemed poised to disagree when a sharp look from Susannah had him nodding once and following his daughter out of the room, closing the door behind him,

Susannah turned her sharp gaze onto Bailey, shifting with another stifled, pain filled moan as she sat up against the headboard.  She gestured for Bailey to step closer, and he bit the inside of his cheek and swallowed down the rising lump in his throat painfully as he did.  His mother watched him, and he came to a stop at the foot of the hospital bed, tapping her fingers against the plastic baseboard.

What Salem had suggested fell to the wayside when he looked upon the woman both unfamiliar and entirely too much so, her eyes too sharp, too cold, and too calculated for someone wracked with pain and so pale and thin she seemed more skeleton than the formidable woman he’d grown up with.

He opened his mouth and blurted, “Why did you have children if you didn’t want them?”

Instead of waving him off as she might have in any other situation, Susannah huffed out a laugh and pointed a finger to her purse.  Bailey glanced at it before picking it up off the floor and bringing it to her, dropping it on her lap and letting her rifle through it until she pulled out a flash, undoubtedly of the moonshine she’d been accostumed to sneaking a glass of when he’d been a child.  She gulped it down as her eyes went to Salem.

“People ask questions like that, and they want a specific answer.  I won’t give you what you want, Arthur, so best retract the question if you don’t truly want it answered.”  She looked to Bailey, and he didn’t look away.  Susannah sighed and took another long swallow of her alcohol.  “I’m a very specific kind of woman, Arthur, and I’ve always known that.  I knew it when I met James, but I ignored it because I loved him.  And I _do_ love your father, regardless of his character or his faithlessness or any of the other reasons I shouldn’t, and he loves me as much as he is able I think.”

“Not very able, then,” Bailey couldn’t quite hold back.  “I wouldn’t do what he’s done to you to Salem.”

“Yes,” Susannah nodded, “you’re not your father.  You’re not me.” She huffed out a laugh and took a long, hard gulp of her moonshine, looking up at Bailey.  “Have you and your…” she trailed off, grimaced, and met Bailey’s eyes, raising her chin defiantly.  “Your partner discussed kids?”

“We don’t want any,” Bailey answered shortly.  “Salem thinks I’ll change my mind.”

“You won’t,” Susannah interrupted him dismissively.  “I’m not maternal, Arthur, and I knew that when I got pregnant with James, but it was both the expected thing and the thing I believed would keep James at home. It wasn’t.  I didn’t.  Katherine was just the same, and you, Arthur, you were an accident at a time when I had little cause to be careful.  Neither of us were prepared for you, and I think that was evident.  Your father loves you, though, Arthur, far more than I.”

Bailey nodded and bit back tears, unsurprised to hear that but nonetheless hurt by it.

Susannah smiled faintly, “I like you all well enough, but I don’t love my children.  I don’t even know if I’m capable of it.”  Pursing his lips together and forcing himself to hold back tears, Bailey nodded.  She waved an airy hand. “Get your father for me. And Katie.”

Unable to speak, Bailey turned without a word and marched to the door.  He yanked it open and found a tearful Katie in her fiancé’s arms while James stared Salem down despite being ignored in favor of him messing with his mobile.  They all looked up at Bailey when he came out, concern flashing across Salem’s face. “She…um…she wants to see dad and everyone.”

James nodded once and shuffled into the room, Katie and Tom close at his heels.

Salem went to Bailey, grabbing his hands when he started to break down.  He tugged him to a chair as the tears began to fall and his breath quickened dangerously, sitting him down and crouching in front of him. Bailey looked up and met his eyes some uncontrollable combination of sad, angry, disappointed, and heartbroken. Heartsick.  Broken more than he thought he could have been by his family.

“All I ever wanted was for that woman to love me,” Bailey confessed in a shattered whisper.

Salem jerked like he’d been shot, opening his mouth and closing it again as tears welled in his own eyes. He nodded and tried to give Salem a smile that just seemed a pale imitation and poorly feigned. “You don’t need her though,” Salem told her, and Bailey laughed bitterly.  It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Salem it was easy for him to say when he had two families who loved him, but Salem beat him to it, continuing. “You might have wanted that, because _everyone_ wants their mother to love them.  But you didn’t _need_ her to raise you, and you don’t _need_ her to love you.  You have my mom and stepfather, my brother, your team, my business partners, Bakar and Alisa, my grandmother, your grandparents, Charlie and Patrick, Max and Bastian, Alina—like I don’t know you two talk all the time regardless of how bullshit that article was, Harry and Rosie, Irial who’s even more aggressive at friendship than me. And you’ll have all of them regardless of whether or not we can make this work until we’re both teasing each other from our wheelchairs in the nursing seventy years from now.

“They love you, and I love you. I know you _want_ your mother to love you, but you have to let her go.  You have to let that hope die, and you have to realize you are strong enough without her, without that love, and you’re not alone, not unloved because she didn’t give that to you.”

Bailey blinked up at his boyfriend, frowning at him while Salem ignored the people around them to wipe the tears from Bailey’s face with a staggering tenderness at always left Bailey reeling.  When Salem moved to pull away, Bailey reached out to cup his face in his hands, meeting his gaze and kissing him in the middle of the hospital.  “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Salem,” he muttered against his lips.  “I’m so unbelievably grateful that you found in Rio.”

“I’m sorry about your mother,” was Salem’s only response.

Bailey nodded and fell apart in Salem’s arms, not worrying about being caught, completely assured that Salem would.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as I was writing this chapter, I realised boarding school was probably the best thing that ever happened to Bailey.
> 
> This chapter was so hard to write. It was just extremely emotional, especially his talk with his mother. The thing is her attitude towards her children is something that I've actually witnessed. My paternal grandmother used to tell her kids all the time that she didn't love them and that she'd just had them because her husband wanted kids. It blows my mind people are actually like this with their kids.
> 
> If you managed to catch it, Susannah was originally in London Bridge Hospital because of their cancer ward, but the closer hospital to where I'd place the Bailey family home in Westminster is closer to St. Thomas Hospital, which is where an ambulance would bring her in an emergency.
> 
> Behold: your friday chapter on Thursday because I gave you two yesterday. I figured that I might as well. It was a good day. I watched a Riders of Berk marathon and booked a weekend trip to Paris. I'm a happy happy girl.


	45. "Monsters" by Jacob Banks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bailey breaks...literally and figuratively

**Labour party leader’s wife succumbs from pancreatic cancer**

Labour party leader, James Bailey, has been by his wife’s side since Susannah began her fight against pancreatic cancer in late December 2017. Last week, after over a yearlong battle for a little more time with her family, Susannah Bailey succumbed due to liver failure in St. Thomas Hospital surrounded by her family including her daughter, Olympic gold medalist, Katherine due to wed UK-EPP MP, Tom Gehrig, in April, and Arsenal forward son, Arthur. Her funereal, held just this past Sunday, had most of London’s elite turning out in droves to say a final goodbye to the influential woman. James Bailey II also came down from Moscow with his wife, activist Rhiannon Bailey, to see his mother interred. Among those who came say their goodbyes was socialite, Davina Allard, tech mogul, Konstantin Kimura-Petrov, and designer for Alexander McQueen, Ari Lupekie.

 

**Text message to Bailey**

**Kanani:** How are you?

**Bailey:** I’m fine.

**Kanani:** Bailey…

**Bailey:** I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m fine.

 

**Text message to Bailey**

**Alina:** I’m so sorry about your mother.

**Bailey:** It’s fine.

**Alina:** You wrote that with perfect grammar and punctuation.

**Bailey:** Your point?

**Alina:** I think you know.

 

**Text message to Bailey**

**Jorge:** You didn’t have to come into practice the other day.

**Bailey:** I didn’t realize it was optional.

**Jorge:** It’s alright if you need time to grieve.

**Bailey:** I’m fine.

 

**Text message to Bailey**

**Charlie:** You’ve been playing well.

**Bailey:** That’s not what I expected to see.

**Charlie:** I spend way too much time around emotionally retarded people to ask how you are.

**Bailey:** I’m numb.

**Charlie:** Points for honesty.

**Charlie:** Have you cried yet? Other than when it happened?

**Bailey:** Is that important?

**Charlie:** You’ll get there.

 

To: [salem.petrov@daiki.co.uk](mailto:salem.petrov@daiki.co.uk)

From: [adrienne.montgomery@daiki.co.uk](mailto:adrienne.montgomery@daiki.co.uk)

Subject: Travel Arrangements

Everything’s sorted for your trips to New York and San Francisco during the week of February 4th through February 12th. Also this is Georgia’s job. If she’s not going to do it, why is she even still here?

Adrienne Montgomery

Receptionist, The Daiki Company

* * *

He knew as soon as he landed, his knee cracking against the ground and the fire radiating up from the throbbing pain welling from the center.

The sound of the whistle blowing only vaguely reached his ears as he struggled to catch his breath as he twisted around as much as he could to sit up. Bailey bit his lip to stifle the moan of agonizing pain that raced through him when he jostled his knee even in the slightest.

“Bailey?” Jorge asked, crouching down beside him.  He was so busy trying to catch his breath and ignore the pain enough to work through it that he couldn’t manage an answer. Hesitantly, Jorge rested a hand on hs shoulder.  “Bailey?”

Chest heaving, Bailey tilted his head back and met Jorge’s eyes, seeing his captain’s worried expression through the haze of agony coursing through him. “Get Maurice,” he forced out through clenched teeth.

Jorge nodded his head but didn’t move, turning to someone beside them while Bailey’s eyes slammed shut; he curled into himself as much as he could without moving his knee, fighting the pain-filled tears threatening to leak out of the corner of his eyes.  Pain or not, Bailey was not about to start crying during a televised game in the middle of a football pitch.

“Bailey?” He heard the familiar voice of the club doctor as he knelt down on Bailey’s other side opposite Jorge.  Slowly, he swallowed and cracked open his eyes to meet Maurice’s professional gaze. “I need you to tell me what hurts.”

“My fucking knee,” Bailey forced out.

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“Can you be a little more specific?” Maurice asked as he carefully prodded around the edges of Bailey’s knee.

Bailey’s stomach heaved as pain ricocheted through his body, an agonized moan spilling from his lips before he could either hold it back or curse Maurice out anymore than he already had.  How much more specific could he get from ‘it hurts everywhere?’

Maurice stilled and looked over at Bailey who was panting out labored breaths as he watched Maurice’s face through half-lidded eyes. The doctor turned to look at Jorge who frowned.  “What?”

“We need to get him to a hospital and get this x-rayed,” Maurice spoke, waving at someone off the field and turning back to Jorge. “Help me get him up?”

“No, no, no,” Bailey panted out.

“We have to move you, Bailey,” Maurice retorted patiently, locking eyes with Jorge who nodded, shifting to grab Bailey’s arm.

Gritting his teeth and biting back the bitter, irate comment on the tip of his tongue, Bailey nodded his head and steeled himself.

On the count of three, Jorge and Maurice helped him to his feet, keeping a firm hold of him once they had him on his feet.  The blood that rushed down and hit his knee as he stood had Bailey doubled over, the wind feeling like it had been knocked out of him again. Jorge and Maurice held firm, keeping him upright when he would have keeled over otherwise. They waited until he caught his breath, shifting in their hold and nodded once, tersely.

The trio hobbled across the pitch to the sidelines where Jorge transferred hold of Bailey over to another member of staff, the worried look on his face remaining.  His captain’s gaze shifted from Bailey to Maurice, pointing at him and ordering in a steely voice, “Assuming he’ll be too doped up on painkillers to be useful, let me know if he’s okay when the game’s over please, Maurice.”

Maurice nodded, “Will do.”

“Focus on the game, cap,” Bailey pointed a trembling finger Jorge’s way.

Jorge forced a smile and nodded once, “Of course, Bailey. Play nice with the docs.”

Bailey nodded and let them help him off the pitch and into the locker room. He grabbed his bag before they were moving again to the waiting ambulance.  Caroline stood outside of it with her arms crossed over her chest, biting her lip worriedly, and her mobile phone pressed to her ear.

When she caught sight of Bailey, she rapped sharply on the door to the ambulance before ambling over to him and hesitating in front of him. Maurice passed hold of him over to Caroline whose eyes widened in surprise as she quickly tucked her mobile into the pocket of her jeans and ducked under Bailey’s arm while Maurice went to the EMTs.

Caroline cleared her throat and looked sideways at him.  “So clumsy, Arthur Bailey.”

Forcing out a bark of laugh, Bailey shook his head, swallowing down a moan of pain.  “I distinctly remember getting hit.  Did he get a penalty for that hit?”

“Not the one he should have,” Caroline replied darkly, her head whipping around when the EMTs directed them forward.  It took them all to help a useless Bailey into the back of the ambulance, Caroline climbing into the back with him and glaring poisonously when the EMTs tried to tell her that they could only take Maurice with them. She leaned against the side of the gurney and forced a smile that Bailey didn’t even try to return before frowning as her eyes roved over his body.  “You’re pale, Bailey.”

“Salem said I needed to work on my suntan,” Bailey joked weakly.

Caroline swallowed and nodded, turning to the EMT.  “Have you called his emergency contact yet?”

The EMT raised his eyebrows at Caroline.  “That’s the hospital’s job.”

“Right, I’ll do it,” Caroline remarked, pulling out her phone while Maurice raised his eyebrows at her.

“He won’t answer,” Bailey told her, swallowing the pain and stifling a moan, his eyes rolling back when the ambulance hit a bump in the road and jostled everyone inside.  Caroline raised her eyebrows at him, and Bailey continued, “He’s in San Francisco. Eight hours behind. He’ll either be asleep or in his morning breakfast meeting.”

Caroline nodded her head sagely before replying, “I’m calling him anyway.”

“Wait until there’s something to report,” Maurice told her.

She scowled and turned to him as the ambulance came to a stop, “But _you_ know what this is.”

“I know what I _think_ it is.”

_Fucking doctors,_ Bailey thought to himself with a glare. _Why all the ambiguity?_

“Fucking doctors,” Caroline echoed, peering around Maurice as the doors to the ambulance opened, and then they were moving, Caroline and Maurice hopping out while the EMTs and nurses careful maneuvered the gurney out of the ambulance and into the hospital.

It had been years since he’d been injured playing football and never on this level.  He’d always been careful, rarely been hurt, and even when it came to general illness he hadn’t often been susceptible.  Never had the flu. Rarely had a cold. The worst he’d gotten had been when he’d ended up with a strep throat when he’d been thirteen. And the last time he’d been in the hospital had been when his mother had died.

Just the sight of the pale pastel colored walls and sterile medical equipment made his heart rate speed, but he stifled his anxiety and switched off his mobile, pinging with messages from people asking if he was okay when it was obvious he wasn’t.  Caroline took one look at his weary expression and plucked his belongings from his fingers as Maurice took ahold of his intake form.

It was a mess of x-rays, an MRI, and tests from the nurses that eventually blurred together until it finally came to end what seemed like hours later but couldn’t have been all that long.  They’d settled him into a bed a room that reminded him eerily of his mother’s with Maurice standing tense on the far side of the room while Caroline sat in the chair beside him, her fingers tapping anxiously against the back of her mobile.

Bailey turned her.  “Did you get ahold of Salem?”

Caroline’s lips thinned as she shook her head.  “I called Georgia, but she didn’t pick up.  His receptionist told me that he was most likely in his morning meeting with some tech security start-up in Silicon Valley, and that she’d try him as soon as he was scheduled to be out of that meeting.” Bailey nodded, not surprised, but Caroline scoffed, “I’ll try him again in a few minutes.  Like that boy can get through an entire meeting without playing with his mobile.”

“He’s not Bruce Wayne,” Bailey defended him.

“No, he’s twenty-three and obsessed with his electronic devices,” Caroline corrected.

A petite woman cleared her throat from the doorway, and Bailey narrowed his eyes on the woman who was at best a nurse and at worst his doctor. She looked barely older than eighteen, tiny, freckled, and adorable with waves of cinnamon hair tied back in a ponytail and wire-rimmed glasses.  She looked more like Sam Sparks from _Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs_ that an doctor old enough to work in a hospital.

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” she said as she slipped into the room, her eyes darting from Maurice to Caroline before settling on Bailey. “Mr. Bailey,” he grimaced, “I’m Noelle Talin.  I’m an orthopedic surgeon here.”

Bailey reeled back, his mouth dropping open before he managed to get it together, forcing a smile and nodding.  “So it’s bad?”

“To be frank,” Talin remarked as she came towards him. “You have a torn ACL.”

“Shit,” Maurice cursed lowly, but not enough that the rest of the room didn’t catch it.

“It’s extremely common in contact sports, but it’s going to be a lot of work.”

“When can I get back to play?”  Bailey cut her off.

Dr. Talin raised her eyebrows, looking to Caroline who turned to Bailey and put a hand on his arm with a nervous smile, “Bailey.”

“No,” Bailey shook his head, “do I look like I need sugar coating? I want to know how long I’m going to be out.  How bad is this?”

Nodding slowly, Dr. Talin ignored the look from Caroline that seemed to caution her in her approach and told Bailey frankly: “The season’s over for you this year.”  Bailey released a huff of breath; he’d been well aware that this was the most likely outcome when he couldn’t even breath on his knee without agonizing pain running all the way up his spine, but hearing it gutted him nonetheless.  “You’re absolutely going to have to have to have surgery followed by physical therapy anywhere from six to nine months.”

“Six,” Bailey told her in a tone that was unequivocal and absolute.

Maurice looked at Bailey and shook his head, “Bailey…”

“You can’t rush this process,” Dr. Talin interrupted Maurice. “It would be dangerous…”

“I can’t…” Bailey bit his lip and shook his head.  “I’m going to do it six months and be back by the start of next season.  I have to. This..football’s…” Bailey shook his head and tried to rein in his breakdown.  He took a deep breath and looked at his doctor.  “How soon can I have surgery?”

Dr. Talin raised her eyebrows and huffed.  “Understand, I will not operate on you until your swelling has gone down, however long that takes.”  Bailey opened his mouth to argue, but she held up a hand and cut him off. “No.  Until the inflammation has decreased and you have a better range of motion it would be negligent to operate on you.  That could end your career.  If you’re operated on while still inflamed, there’s a high chance of you developing anthrofibrosis, with is scar forming in the joint that could severely limit your knee motion.  If you want to get back onto the pitch and be as good as you were before this injury, you’re not going to rush this process.

“I will do everything in my power to try and get you onto the pitch by kickoff in August, and with that level of determination, it might even happen. And the minute you’re no longer inflammed, I’ll have you scheduled for surgery, but here’s what will happen until then: I will get you a brace and crutches to keep from putting anymore stress on that knee, we’ll set up a physical therapy regimen for when your inflammation starts going down to strengthen up those muscles, and I’ll give you some painkillers should you need them.  Until then, you will rest.  Am _I_ understood?”

Bailey swallowed back his numerous objections and the emotion welling in him as he nodded slowly, letting the woman have her way.

Dr. Talin nodded her head, “Good.  Are you allergic to any medication?”

“No,” Bailey answered tonelessly, drawing a sharp look from Caroline and Maurice.

“Here’s what I’m going to do.  I’m going to write you a prescription for NSAIDs, which aren’t steroids and will help decrease the inflammation.  As the inflammation goes down, the pain should decrease.  I’d rather not give you anything else for the pain, to be honest, and I don’t think you’d take them.”

“I’ll just smoke one of my boyfriend’s joints if I’m in that much pain,” Bailey replied.

The whole room stilled like the oxygen had been sucked out of it, but Bailey just met Dr. Talin’s gaze levelly while she snorted and nodded. “Paracetamol is fine too since I’m not going to be the one to recommend marijuana in treatment. Otherwise, just try to rest. It’s fine to ice your knee, keep it elevated as much as possible.  We’re going to get you through this, Bailey.”

Bailey nodded his head as tears started to well up in his eyes.

If the doctor noticed, she didn’t say anything as she left to get him his prescription.  Caroline whirled on him the moment she left the room while Maurice rocked back on his heels, eyes wide.

“Are you out of your mind?”  Caroline hissed at him.

“Caroline,” Bailey sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “Can we not do this right now?”

“What is wrong with you?”  Caroline demanded.

Bailey shook his head and didn’t answer, because really, what could he say?

Football had been the only thing keeping him together.  That and Salem, and Salem was eight thousand kilometers away at the moment on a whole other continent and had a life that did not need Bailey’s added drama of complete and utter implosion.  Now football had been taken away from him as well, his world felt like it was crashing down around him, a thousand pound weight sitting square on his chest and keeping him from breathing.

On the verge of a full breakdown, Bailey grabbed his phone and pulled up the first thing he could find.  He hesitated, trying to shake the irrational urge to run that was flood through his body to no avail.

Keeping his mouth shut and hanging by an emotional thread, Bailey bought the ticket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God, the amount of research I did on ACL tears in sports and the treatment was unreal.
> 
> And Carolne who, yes, is all about the bottom line and is in charge of publicity for the club does actually have a heart.


	46. "Kingdom Come" by Demi Lovato ft. Iggy Azalea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Salem takes a trip

**Georgia Hanson (@ChangedGeorgia)**

All of my bosses are out of the country #partytime #letthegoodtimesroll

 

**Adrienne Montgomery (@A_D_Monty)**

@ChangedGeorgia that doesn’t mean you don’t still have to come in to work

 

**Kanani Kapuana (@Kanani_Pahala)**

@Salem_Daiki @Kitty_Catriona oh. My. God.

 

**Irial Dorian (@DorianII)**

@Cris_Emerson @MC_Cross holy shit! Are you watching this? #loosingmyshit #cantevenbelieveit

 

**Arthur Bailey’s out for the season**

Less than four hours ago, Arsenal forward, Arthur Bailey, went down just passed the midway point in the game after an awkward fall when hit by Watford midfielder, Emilio Christian.  He had to be helped off the field by captain, Jorge Maldonado, and the club doctor before being escorted to the hospital in an ambulance.  Club press secretary, Caroline Bonfils, announced that he will be out indefinitely due to a torn ACL but is hoping to be in shape to return by next season’s kickoff.  There’s been no word from Bailey, but he was spotted not long after being released from the hospital on crutches and in a knee brace at Heathrow Airport and reportedly hasn’t been seen since.

 

**Text message to Bailey**

**Caroline:** Where the hell are you????

 

To: kingarthurb@gmail.co.uk

From: kier.peter@londonsportsmgmt.org.uk

Subject: CALL ME

Bailey,

I don’t know where you are or where you’re going or what’s going on because no one told me, but I need you to get ahold of me as soon as you’re able. You’re worrying me a lot, kid. I’m calling Salem as well.

Peter

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

Do you ever just walk out of a meeting to find that the whole world’s imploded in less than two hours? #idefinitelymissedsomething

 

**Text message to Kanani**

**Kanani:** SALEM! YOU NEED TO CALL ME ASAP!!!!! IT’S ABOUT BAILEY!!!!

 **Salem:** Kanani I need you to do me a favor.

 **Salem:** Break into the house and send me a pic of that post-it note on the frame on the dresser

 **Kanani:** Are you kidding me? I asked you to do one thing for me.

 **Salem:** I don’t have any information. But I will if you get me that note.

 **Kanani:** Give me half an hour.

* * *

This had not been what Salem had been expecting to do with his day when he’d woken up that morning. Not that hadn’t been expecting his boyfriend’s mental breakdown to be right around the corner, but Salem hadn’t quite been prepared for the massive, newsworthy runaway bride-esque flee from the whole country facilitated by a season-ending injury that had been _all over the news_ from the moment Salem had walked out of his three hour meeting with the small tech start-up he’d been dying to poke around in since he’d come across them in a passing conversation with his mother.

That was the last time he went into a communications blackout meeting with _anyone_. Ever.

The sheer number of ‘where is Bailey’ texts, emails, and phone calls he’d gotten within the thirty minutes between Bailey showing up at Heathrow and completely going off the radar was beyond unbelievable especially when he took into account that majority of them came from Bailey’s agent, Arsenal’s press secretary, Arsenal’s coach, Jorge Maldonado, and Bailey’s older brother. There had been a sheer moment of panic when he realized he didn’t know where Bailey was, that Bailey hadn’t called him, before he managed to calm down enough to do an about face right back to the building he’d left in a hurry, plopping down on one of the couches in the lounge to consider his options.

Bailey didn’t know _that_ many people a plane ride away who he’d run to in an emotional emergency.  Michi was in Japan.  Katya was in Russia. Tasha and Damien were in San Francisco, same as himself.  Cameron was in boarding school and way too young for Bailey to go to freak out. If he didn’t call Salem, chances were that he wasn’t about to run all the way to one of his family members, even Michi simply because Japan seemed a fairly ridiculous distance to travel for a good cry.  That Salem with one option, which had been when he’d looked at the reformed white-hat hackers surrounding him.

They’d cross-referenced Bailey’s bank statements with three flights and a rental car company out of Pierre Regional Airport in South Dakota, two hours away from Bailey’s grandparent’s ranch in Rosebud.

And then Salem had sat on his hands.

Bailey wouldn’t land in South Dakota until Sunday afternoon, and the closest Salem could get in terms of flights to reach him either overshot his landing by three hours or missed him by four.  So, Salem would wait, which, conincidentally, is how he ended up closing a deal to work with the tech security start-up as he’d spent the evening trying not to stress about his kind of missing boyfriend and played around with firewalls and ad prevention—mostly legal ways of security—over eighteen boxes of pizza and root beer.

At four am the next morning, he’d hopped off his mother’s couch, said goodbye to Damien, and then gotten into her car, the pair of the making the trip to the airport—her for work and him for his seven o’clock flight to Chicago.

From there, it was a nightmare.  Salem loved to fly and had since his mother had become a flight attendant and turned winter vacations into trips skiing in Lake Tahoe or summers into lounging on the beach in Punta Cana.  But, he also liked nonstop flights that didn’t exist when trying to fly into tiny regional airports on the Great Lakes.  San Francisco to Chicago to Minneapolis to Huron, and finally, to Pierre where he climbed, exhausted into a rental car and started the two hour drive to the Lakota Sioux Indian Reservation in Rosebud where Bailey’s grandparents had lived his whole life.

Salem plugged the address into his GPS and drove the whole way, stopping only once to grab a Big Mac and fries that actually had salt in it before continuing on his way.

It was passed ten when he finally reached the tiny town, driving through it slowly and turning down road after road until he came to a long, single drive off the main road and into the woods.

Pursing his lips, Salem followed his directions down the pathway, uncertainly, until the trees broke to reveal acres of flat plains with grazing horses, steep hills rising in the distance.  A small timber house sat at the very end of the driveway, one floor but long with a wide porch and two rocking chairs out front.  A silver Hyundai with California plates sat outside the house with a faded blue Ford parked around the side.  Salem pulled in beside the other rental car and sat in the seat for a moment, collecting his frazzled nerves before hopping out and making his way towards the house.

He startled halfway up the stairs when he noticed a petite, old Native American woman standing in the doorway watching him with kind chocolate eyes, her dark hair pulled into a single long braid thrown over one shoulder and her plump figure wrapped in a long, colorful dress that fell to the ground.

“Um…hi,” Salem started awkwardly.

She snorted, “Who are you?”  Salem gaped, embarrassed.  “We don’t get visitors.  Not out here, and certainly not this late.”

“Oh, I’m…looking for my boyfriend.”

“What did you do to make him runaway?”  She crossed her arms over her chest.

Salem hesitated, unsure if she was teasing, “Nothing.  I think I might have the wrong address.”

“Who are you?”  She demanded again.

“Salem,” he started carefully.  “I’m…are you Virginia Whyte?”

The old woman smiled slightly, “I had a feeling you’d be coming. Come in.”

 _Well, I guess I got the right place_.  Salem followed Virginia inside the house and startled at the interior.

Theoretically, Salem had known how unlike Susannah Bailey was to her parents, but their interior decorating styles told the story well enough. Where Susannah’s aesthetic had been glamorous, chic, and classic, her parent’s cabin was more inviting and warm, inclusive with its open floor plan, comfortable brown couches, and eclectic mismatched lamps.  The rugs all had Native American design elements, and the photos that littered the walls and mantle of the roaring fireplace were all of Native Americans Salem had never met and the Bailey family.

The scent of hot chocolate and baking bread permeated the whole house from the only mildly modern room in the whole house where Salem could see Virginia’s husband working at the stove with he hummed along to the sixties music playing over the stereo.  A dog laid at the man’s bare feet, a pair of cats perched on the kitchen windowsill watching Salem with narrowed, judgmental gazes.

Virginia cleared her throat pointedly, and her husband turned around to face them with a quizzical but no less welcoming smile.  Despite being at least into his sixties, Bailey’s grandfather hardly looked a day over forty, his body well-toned for his age, his skin having considerably less wrinkles than expected, and his thick black hair that fell to his shoulder only showing the slightest signs of graying. His dark eyes looked from Salem to Virginia and back again before he nodded.  “You must be my grandson’s partner.”

“Salem,” Virginia told her husband.

“Salem,” he nodded, his shrewd eyes saying he knew more about the origins of Salem’s nickname than he felt entirely comfortable with. “I’m John Whyte. Bailey’s grandfather and a councilmember for the reservation.”  Salem quirked an eyebrow while John smield blithely.  “The tribe doesn’t allow recreational drug use, and, though we do sell alcohol, _I_ don’t want it brought into my house.  Understand?”

“Yes sir,” Salem nodded his head, for once glad that he’d been forced to surrender his marijuana back in London.

John nodded, “Bailey’s out in the back arena by the barn. Probably exercising his mare.”

“With a torn ACL?”  Salem demanded incredulously.

Virginia and John both stilled before Virginia bit back a curse and John rolled his eyes, “That boy’s going to be the death of me, Ginny.” Virginia hmmphed at her husband judgmentally as she brushed passed him to the stove, and John looked at Salem. “Best go make sure he isn’t doing anything more damaging to himself.

“I’m sorry about your daughter,” Salem offered.

John’s face twisted with grief, and he nodded in thanks while Virginia turned to smile at him, “We’re glad to have you here, Salem.

Salem nodded and went out the back door just off the kitchen.

The arena in question was easy enough to find, visible as it was from the back porch.  The layout of the back placed the livestock barn on the left, the feed barn directly across from the house, and two washracks to the right just behind a parked horse trailer with a small, uncovered arena in the center.  The second arena had a cover overhead and was tucked away behind the livestock barn and just to the left of the feed barn, and Salem could see the large buckskin horse cantering in a circle around the perimeter of the ring before he even reached the gate.

Bailey, thankfully, sat on a mounting block in the center of the ring, the lead line slack in his hand and his troubled, dark-ringed eyes following the movement of the horse right up until she stilled and startled at the sight of Salem, huffing indignantly and tossing her head.

Eyebrows raised, Salem waited just outside the find while Bailey studied him wordlessly, the exhaustion on his face plain.  With a sigh, he ducked his head and clucked his tongue, gaining the horse’s attention at once.  After only an intent look, the mare bridged the distance between them, walking to Bailey like a well-trained dog and butting her head against his hand docilely. Bailey stroked the horse’s muzzle and met Salem’s eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”  Salem replied with a shrug. “You’re an adult, Bailey, and you’re going through a lot.  It’s, well, it’s not _okay_ that you ran away without telling anyone where you were going, but _I’m_ not angry.”

“You’re not?”  Bailey asked skeptically.

“Don’t get me wrong, I was worried about you, but it’s not as big a deal as everyone’s going to make it out to be.  Kanani’s furious, I’m sure.  Probably your brother too.  Caroline’s irate, of course, and your agent’s called me about ten times an hour since everything happened, but it’s not a big deal.  You’re allowed to break down.  Besides, it wasn’t that hard to find you.”

Bailey snorted, “Yeah, you and your powers of hacking, huh?”

“It’s called deduction.”  Bailey gave him a disbelieving look, and Salem shrugged with a cheeky grin. “Okay, yeah, it might have included some hacking, but I didn’t break any laws…or not that many.” Salem looked at Bailey, _really_ looked at him as he stroked the horse’s cheek and hummed lowly to her, seeming surprisingly comfortable with an animal for someone who didn’t particularly like them.  “How long’s it been since you’ve been back here?”

“Too long,” Bailey answered with a self-deprecating shrug. “I love it here.”

That much was evident.  Bailey seemed considerably more centered than he had in London, despite his breakdown. It was as beautiful a thing to witness, as it was shocking.

“I thought you said you didn’t like animals,” Salem couldn’t help but point out.

Bailey’s eyes snapped open, and he frowned at Salem.  “Wichapi is a _horse_ ,” he said like that somehow made it any different.  Salem frowned, and Bailey barked out a laugh, rising unsteadily to his feet, his color draining slightly as he closed his eyes against the onslaught of pain. Wichapi stilled at his side, allowing Bailey to rest his weight against her until he managed to get himself together and limp over to Salem, the horse trailing along dutifully. “Do you know how to ride?”

“Yes,” Salem admitted while Bailey’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “What?  Charlie’s mother is breeder and former steeplechase rider in addition to her other careers.  They have a stable outside of London where Charlie and his sister stable their horses. Besides, my mom and I were adventurous on vacation.  I’ll have you know I once rode a horse through the Phoenix South Mountain Park with the saddle sliding off.  But I’m nto going to ride with you until your doctor clears that kind of behavior.”

Bailey huffed, anger flashing across his face before he snapped at Salem, “I don’t understand why you’re not pissed at me.  I would be.  If you did some dumbass shit like this to me.”

“I’m not you.  I kind of thought the thirty hour trip to get here was punishment enough.  And truthfully?  I saw this coming.  I mean, not _this_ obviously.  Not the ACL being torn and your runaway bride moment to South Dakota, but you weren’t grieving, Bailey.  You were so busy trying to keep it together for the press, the team, _me_ that you wouldn’t let yourself grieve for the woman you lost and the mother you never had. I can let your mental breakdown slide.”

“I’m going to be out for the season, maybe even longer according to the orthopedic surgeon who looked at my file—who looked like was twelve, by the way. Football’s all I have. I don’t know what to do without it. I don’t know who I am.”

Salem nodded his head.  “Maybe it’s time to find out.”  Bailey looked at him sharply, and Salem raised his hands innocently.  “Look, football is what you love.  It’s your passion, but it’s not all you have and it shouldn’t be. You have me and your friends. You can take cooking class and make healthy cooking YouTube videos.  We can get not-an-animal here shipped to London, if you want, and I’ll ask Charlie’s mom if she’ll take her and if not we can find somewhere to board her. You can learn how to golf.” Bailey grimaced, and Salem nodded in agreement, “Or not.  You need to figure out who you are, and it’s not going to be easy for either of us. It’s going to be an adjustment, for sure, but I think it’s probably past time, don’t you think?”

His eyes looked back to the house behind them, biting his lip anxiously before he shifted his gaze back to Salem.  “What if I’m not ready to go yet?”

“Then, buck up and call your agent.  And Caroline.  And Jorge and your coach. And Kanani.  And talk to your doctor about temporarily transferring your checkups locally.  And fill your goddamn prescription.  It’s not like you have anywhere you need to be, and as long as your grandparents have wifi, I can technically work from here if you want me here.”

“I always want you here,” Bailey laughed with tears welling in his eyes.

“I’m warning you, my mother will probably show up here at some point.”

Bailey grinned, and Salem rolled his eyes.  “I love your mother.  Will she bring Damien?” He opened the gate, and Salem clumsily exchanged Wichapi’s lead rope for his mobile, following Bailey as he hobbled up towards the barn and typed out a message to Kanani with a dopey grin on his face.  _Seriously, this is the man I’m in love with_ , Salem laughed to himself, shaking his head at the whole situation.

The next morning found Salem waking up to his mother peeking in the Bailey’s room to snap a picture of him wrapped protectively around Bailey who spent the whole night grieving both his mother and lost season.  Twenty minutes later, they both stumbled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and confused to find Damien at the kitchen table drinking tea and playing messing with John’s laptop while Bailey’s grandfather watched over his shoulder, intrigued, Tasha at the stove making breakfast, and Virginia holding one of Salem’s tablets and exchanging recipes with Katya over Skype.

Bailey gaped at Salem who only shrugged and poured them both a cup of coffee, kissing Bailey on the temple before dragging them over to talk to Katya over Virginia’s shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to South Dakota, and you finally got introduced to Bailey's grandparents! I'm almost done with this mix n'match meet the families, which is a lot harder to get a handle on than Iri and Cris whose families resided at least in the same continent. I confess, I did a bunch of research on Rosebud, South Dakota, and the Lakota Sioux Native America tribal reservation because I've been to states further west and further east but never either of the Dakotas. I do actually know about horses though. I rode for years and still would if it wasn't so expensive in London.
> 
> I left ya'll hanging on Friday :P I'm sorry, but we're about to enter the eye of the storm. It's good. I'm excited. I'm almost done writing!


	47. "Fading" by Rihanna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Birthdays aren't fun.

**Text message to Kanani from Bailey (on Salem’s phone)**

**Salem:** Im alive

 **Kanani:** Bailey?

 **Salem:** …hi

 **Kanani:** Understand that when I get my hands on you I’ll slap the shit out of you

 **Salem:** I luv u 2 nani.

 **Kanani:** Fucker.

 

**Charles Beck (@CharlieBeck)**

@Salem_Daiki I told you all those horseback riding lessons would come in handy

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

@CharlieBeck nope nope don’t even front. You just wanted to torture me.

 

**Irial Dorian (@DorianII)**

@Salem_Daiki horseback riding is fun though

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

@DorianII don’t encourage bad behavior.

 

**Margot R33d (@R3dSioux)**

It’s not every day you see an EPL soccer player in your local supermarket O.O #socooltho #arthurbailey #premierleague #arsenal

 

**Arsenal’s Arthur Bailey recovers in States**

Nearly six weeks after tearing his ACL during a game with Watford FC, Arsenal forward Arthur Bailey surfaces in South Dakota.  “Bailey’s transferred his treatment over to the States for the time being to recover somewhere more peaceful,” the footballer’s rep stated when approached for a comment on the elusive footballer’s whereabouts. Arsenal FC also corroborated the statement saying, “We’re well aware of both Bailey’s whereabouts and his treatment. He was aggrieved when he realized the scope of his injury, and no one here faults him for seeking shelter somewhere he felt comfortable to recover.” The club has also stated he underwent reconstructive surgery two weeks past and has begun his physical therapy at a local facility. Rumors have also surfaced that his close friend, tech mogul Konstantin Kimura-Petrov might have gone with him to South Dakota, but neither The Daiki Company nor Bailey’s rep have commented on this.

 

**Text message to Harry**

**Harry:** So are we going to keep ignoring the interviews about your personal life?

 **Salem:** I mean you said it not me.

 **Harry:** You have never given a personal interview in the time you’ve been a public figure.

 **Salem:** I don’t understand why people care.

 **Salem:** I’m an inventor not a celebrity.

 **Harry:** An inventor who’s bffs with half of London’s film, tv, and radio industry

 **Salem:** So this isn’t about Bailey?

 **Harry:** OF COURSE ITS ABOUT BAILEY

* * *

Bailey had said distinctly, weeks ago, that he did not want a birthday party.  As a general rule, he didn’t _do_ parties, and the closest he came to celebrating his birthdate was going on excursions with Salem, which wouldn’t be possible when he was living under his grandparents’ roof and entirely unable to run away.  Besides, South Dakota didn’t have a wide array of interesting travel locales, not that Salem couldn’t find one if he put his mind to it.

Despite Virginia empathic agreement not to plan one for him, Bailey had known instinctively that wouldn’t be the end of the discussion, nor would the subject fade away. Contrary to what he’d expected, the subject _hadn’t_ come up again, and he’d idiotically thought that meant it had been dropped.  He should have known better.

When he slowly made his way up the pathway from where he’d been grooming Wichapi—the most he was allowed to do aside from lunging her since Salem had spilled the beans on his torn ACL—Salem met him halfway with an anxious expression on his face and a brisk, jumpy air to him.  He grabbed Bailey’s arm and pulled him to the side of the porch stairs, peering at the back window before smiling nervously at Bailey.

“Don’t be upset.”

 _That_ was not the kind of conversation started that would make him relax even a little.

“What did you do?”  Bailey sighed.

Salem scoffed, “Nothing this time.  It wasn’t me.  I swear. I told her I wouldn’t help when she asked me last week, and I guess she decided that meant I didn’t need to know.”

“Oh no,” Bailey groaned.

“I think she might have invited the whole town, and I know you don’t want a party, but…”

“But?”

“Ginny’s very excited about the whole thing.”

Bailey scowled, “I can’t believe you call my grandmother, Ginny.”

“She asked me to!” Salem huffed, and Bailey half-smiled at the familiar back and forth while Salem watched him with trepidation.

“Right,” Bailey nodded determinedly, “who’s ‘everybody?’”

Everybody seemed to be _everybody_.  Neighbors.  Most of the reservation.  The entire council including the president and vice president.  Tasha and Damien.  Kanani and Catriona.  All of his grandmother’s book club.  The riding club his grandmother taught.  And even Katherine and Tom.

Bailey froze upon seeing his older sister sitting on the arm of the couch and chatting amicably with a couple members of the council in only yoga pants and a massive cashmere sweater, one of their grandmother’s multicolored mugs in hand. Tom stood off to the side having a lively discussion with his grandfather and some of the other councilmembers, their faces austere and entirely unimpressed with whatever the man was saying.

He turned to Salem with an outraged expression.  Salem nodded and squeezed his side gently. “I know.  I had no idea.”

“Fucking hell,” Bailey snapped.  “It’s not like it’s news that I don’t talk to Katie.  And I’d like to continue not talking to Katie.”

“I think your grandmother’s trying to help,” Salem offered weakly.

Bailey snorted derisively, “She’s going to help me to an early grave.”

Salem pursed his lips and nodded once before holding up a hot pink plastic cup with a broad grin.  “Okay, well, happy twenty-first birthday.  You’re officially legal.”

Bailey rolled his eyes but took the orange juice, eyeing it skeptically. “There’s not even alcohol in this, is there?”

“Don’t tell your grandparents,” Salem confessed guiltily while Bailey bit back a smile.  “I’m very weirded out by your laissez-faire government safety techniques.  What kind of community lets their president just traipeze around with the common folk?”

“The kind where a decent portion of the community doesn’t want to kill the president,” Bailey answered with a wry grin.  Salem glowered at him playfully, and Bailey shrugged while he sipped his screwdriver.  “America’s just a special place.”

“Okay, let’s talk about Britain’s last three prime minister’s,” Salem pointed a finger at Bailey who grimaced.

“God, let’s not.  And is this one of those ‘I can talk shit about my country and my president but you can’t, heathen’ things?”

Salem nodded primely.  “Absolutely.”

“But I’m technically American.”  Bailey beamed when Salem narrowed his eyes at Bailey who pointed to himself with a smug smirk, “Dual citizenship.  And I’m registered in the Lakota nation.  I’m just more culturally diverse than you.”

“What are you even talking about?”  Salem flicked him in the ear, “I have citizenship in three countries. That’s _countries_ not Native American nations within one of the countries I hold citizenship in. I think I win.”

Bailey gaped at him.  “How the hell do you have citizenship in Russia?”

“My parents had it restored in 2008 when a law was passed saying former USSR citizens could reclaim Russian citizenship provided they had a permanent or temporary residence in the country, and my parents never relinquished their house when they left.  I applied for citizenship as their child with a note that I had American citizenship due to my parents seeking asylum in the country and needing me to have stability, also my name was added to the deed to my parent’s house, and Salem got citizenship because he was under sixteen and therefore could have it extended to him. I didn’t see why not,” Tasha explained, joining the conversation with a cheeky grin and pressing a kiss to Salem and Bailey’s cheek in turn.  She paused to frown at Bailey’s drink, “Is there alcohol in that?”

Bailey’s cheeks colored, and Tasha sighed happily, plucking the cup from his fingertips and downing the rest of it.  He raised his eyebrows and looked to Salem who seemed just as startled at his mother’s behavior as Bailey.

“Usually I’m very germ conscious, but I just finished up a three day trip that went Denver to Canton to LAX.  The legal pot state, crazy town, and celebrity land.  I just need some damn alcohol.”

Bailey nodded like he understood before telling Tasha, “Your son’s the one with the stash.”

Salem tossed him a betrayed look while Tasha turned to her son expectantly. Bailey laughed and tugged on a lock of hair peeking out from underneath Salem’s bright yellow minion’s beanie. Snagging the cup from Salem’s fingers and leaving him to deal with his mother, Bailey made his way through the house, eyeing the university-aged girls chatting in the dining room and eyeing him speculatively, which wasn’t unusual.  Most of them he’d known since early adolescence but then they’d only held lust and not the calculated intensity that had come when he’d started in the Premier League and began making more money than he could spend in a lifetime.

He found Kanani in the kitchen, sharing a mug of hot cocoa with Catriona and chatting with a fourteen-year-old girl that Bailey felt confident his grandmother gave riding lessons to.  Uncomfortable with all the eyes on him, Bailey hopped up on the counter beside Kanani and grinned when she glanced over at him with narrowed eyes.

“Hello gorgeous.”

Kanani scoffed, “When have you _ever_ said that to me?”

The girl looked shocked while Catriona just chuckled and pressed a kiss to Bailey’s cheek in greeting as she asked, “Avoiding your sister?”

“They couldn’t find anyone else to invite?”  Bailey whined.

Kanani slapped his shoulder, “Get with it.”

“No,” he replied shortly.

“No, really, because she’s coming this way.”

“No she’s—”

The sound of someone clearing their throat behind him had Bailey tensing before he sighed and turned around to face his sister with a hard look on his face. He could see his grandmother over her shoulder, chatting with Tasha and Salem, and she caught he gaze and gave him a pleading look.  Bailey rolled his eyes but turned his attention back to his sister.

“Katherine.”

“Arthur,” Katie intoned lightly.

“I see your fiancé’s making friends,” he nodded to the outraged group of councilmembers and their stony-faced grandfather.

Katie crooked an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. “I see you’re still being impertinent.”

Bailey sighed and placed his cup down on the counter with a bland smile. “Why are you here, Katie? When’s the last time you even set foot farther west than New York City in the last five or six years?”

Katie shrugged dismissively, her eyes darting over to Salem and their grandmother laughing over something while Tasha looked on fondly and spiked her drink with a half-full water bottle.  Katie scoffed, and Bailey’s eyes narrowed further into a glower. “I see you’re still playing house with that friend of yours.”

“Are we pretending you don’t know his name?” He asked archly.

“You might have gotten Jamie onto your side by batting your eyes and looking sad that no one understands you, but we both know that between the pair of us, Jamie’s weaker emotionally.”

“God help Jamie for not being frigid.”

On the list of things never to call a woman that might top the list, but the words had been off Bailey’s lips before he managed to check himself. He winced as soon as his sister stilled, an icy, sharp smile splitting across her face as she narrowed her eyes on him.

“You remember that summer we spent in Oxford when mum and dad were working on their marriage?”  Bailey frowned at the surprising shift in topic.  Katie waved a hand, “You might not.  You were young.  Just turned five if I remember correctly.  It doesn’t matter, because _I_ remember it.  Dad agreed to teach summer law and politics courses as a guest lecturer, and he agreed to bring the whole family when mum asked because they wanted to strengthen their marriage.

“You were five.  I was eight, and Jamie nine.  I loved it. I felt free running around through the hallways, about like Lyra, really, from _The Golden Compass_. It was magical…for a little while. You got homesick. Couldn’t stand sleeping in a bed that wasn’t your own and toys there weren’t your usuals, and you hated our au pair because you adored our nanny, Regina, primarily because she adored you.

“Every day for a week, you threw a temper tantrum as soon as dad walked through the door until you fell asleep sick with it.  The au pair, she tried to comfort you, put you to bed, feed you, but nothing worked.  We’d all sit there are the dinner table.  Dad looking at mum like it was all her fault, mum looking like she wished she had a valid excuse to flee to the pub, and Jamie and I desperately trying to behave the way they wanted us to— _needed_ us to because _you_ wouldn’t.”

“We were home that summer.  With an au pair,” Bailey told her, confused.

“Of course we were,” Katie snapped.  “Dad couldn’t stand it, and you were in consolable, wouldn’t even eat. Mum packed up and took us all back to London, fired Regina, and hired on a new au pair—one _you_ could stand—while she looked for a new nanny.  That’s what life’s always been like with you, Bailey.  Kicking up a fuss till you get your way at the expense of everyone else.”

“I was _five_ ,” Bailey pointed out.

Katie huffed, “Our parents tried, and you never stopped punishing them for not loving you the way you felt you deserved.”

Bailey shook his head.  “That’s where the problem is, Katie.  We all deserved more than what they gave us.  And what they gave us wasn’t much.  Do you even hear yourself?  You and Jamie trying to behave, trying to be what mum and dad wanted: two silent trophy children like this is the 19th century, and I cried for the only person in our lives who _showed_ us any love.  The person mum _fired_ because I loved her more despite the fact that mum never loved us anyway.”

Katie’s face darkened, “Shut your mouth, Arthur.”

“No, Katie, mum never loved us.”

“You don’t know—”

“She _told_ me,” Bailey replied tonelessly.  “That day in the hospital.  She told me she never loved her children, that she didn’t think herself capable of it.”

“No,” Katie shook her head.  “No, she loved us.  She loved _me_.”

“No, Katie,” Bailey said, taking his sister’s hands gently while tears welled in her eyes.  “She didn’t. And you shouldn’t have had to be everything your mother wanted to even get her to like you.  Love isn’t supposed to work like that.”

“We’re to love and obey our parents,” Katie recited dutifully, her voice weak and shaky, a pathetic attempt to justify her rocked world at best.

Bailey nodded in agreement and cupped his sister’s face in his hands, forcing himself to ignore the bitterness and anger constantly lurking in his heart when it came to his sister.  Now wasn’t the time for that.  He’d been her not too long ago, knew first hand how it felt, and wouldn’t make it worse than it was.

“Yes, we are, but we’re not supposed to bribe them to like us—to _love_ us—with total and utter compliance to their every wish and whim. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Katie laughed humorlessly and met Bailey’s eyes through tears. “Do you know what I thought when you came out to mum and dad?”  Bailey tensed, swallowed anxiously, and shook his head slowly, unsure if he even _wanted_ to know.  She didn’t ask, though, continuing on blithely and bitterly.  “I sat there, watching you over the table.  You didn’t even look up, you know, just kept pushing around the peas on your plate with your fork while all the air seemed to get sucked right out of the room.  My first thought was that I couldn’t believe you’d admitted that to mum and dad; then they started talking about embarrassing the family name, how it wasn’t proper, it wasn’t _traditional_ , that you couldn’t be _gay_ not after you’d already run off to play football like some common schoolboy unintelligent enough that you’d have no prospects in the future.  You looked crushed, and I thought, ‘well what did you expect?’ It’s all well and good to be gay in theory, they’re a large enough part of the vote, dad would never say anything against them publicly, but a member of his family—unthinkable. And then you started… _crying_ nearly.”

Bailey winced and looked away.  His hands grasped for his cup, swallowing down the contents in a few short gulps, wishing Salem had put more alcohol in it.  Of all the nights he’d rather forget, the night he came out to his family might top the list.  He’d known better, but it had weighed on him until he’d spoken up, and then he’d bee publicly shamed and ridiculed at family dinner.

Like a nightmare come to life.

That had been the last time Bailey had seen his family until his mother had sent her plaintive email saying she’d needed to tell him something.

“I wish I could say I felt for you, Arthur,” Katie told him, the flush across her face saying better than words could that no matter what had happen since then, she _was_ ashamed of the way she’d behaved then. “But all I could think was ‘there he goes again, my brother the attention whore, crying to get his way.’ Right or wrong, I am a product of our parents, and our parents taught us lessons about behavior and perception. I don’t know if those lessons were _right_ , but they are what I know.  I’m not frigid.  I am what our parents made us.”

Bailey smiled coldly and nodded his head at his sister’s words. “And how long are you going to use that excuse, Katherine?  We were _made_ by the same parents, but we are not the same.”

Katie’s lips twisted into a thin smile as she squeezed the hands Bailey still held, sending a chill through his body.  “Oh Arthur,” she pressed a kiss to his cheek that had him jolting and trying to pull away from him, “life isn’t a fairytale.  I’m happy with the way I am.  With the way my life is.  There’s no need to fix something that isn’t broken.”

“You don’t think you’re broken?” Bailey snorted skeptically.

Taking a step away from him, Katie shrugged primely, her head tilted up defiantly looking every inch their mother.  “I think I’m not the one hiding my relationship behind closed doors and ducking camera phones and reporters asking for comments on why your ‘best friend’ followed you into exile.  Think about that while you stand there and judge me.”

With a hollow victorious smirk, Katie whirled on her heels and walked through the crowd to rescue her fiancé from the men who seemed ready to burn in a pyre.  Bailey wanted to forget her words, dismissive them for the self-righteous vitriol that they were, but his eyes found Salem in the crowd and he realized dismissal wouldn’t be possible.

Katie wasn’t _right,_ but she had a point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I did a lot of research about Russian citizenship to get this information, and I'll be honest with you: I totally fudged. In theory, it KIND OF works like that. There was a law about former USSR citizens reclaiming Russian citizenship provided they had permanent or temporary residency. So Salem's grandparents are good to go. That would have worked. Tasha wouldn't have gotten herself because she was an adult when her parents applied for theirs, and therefore she'd have to apply on her own, also with residency, but provided she got hers Salem would have been able to gain citizenship due to his being underage and his mother gaining citizenship. Vaguely. I did a lot of research for that, and then I thought 'fuck it, it's fiction anyway'.
> 
> The tribe does have a council, president, and vice president that are voted into office. I checked.
> 
> My mothers a flight attendant. She actually talks like that about places she flies to. It's hysterical. 
> 
> Bailey's family's kind of a let down, I know. They're just very set in their ways, and I briefly considered going very HEA with the way they interact, but it didn't seem likely and I do appreciate a healthy dose of realism. I'm about to hit my quote for 'that probably wouldn't happen in real life' and I had England win the World Cup so family kind of has to par the course.
> 
> And now I move my butt and hurry to go get the bus back to London from Paris :)


	48. "Bed of Lies" by Nicki Minaj ft. Skylar Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur visits an old friend who gives him a dressing down

**Text message to Salem**

**Bailey:** omfg are stag dos supposed 2 b so depressing?

 **Salem:** Titantic depressing? Or Snape and Lily depressing?

 **Bailey:** Lito and Hernando depressing?

 **Salem:** Definitely not. Isn’t it a little soon for jilting?

 **Salem:** And aren’t they a little too nauseatingly in love?

 **Bailey:** Its being hndld. Cris thot iri ddnt rly want 2 marry him. Smh

 **Salem:** That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.

 **Bailey:** Im not drunk enough 2 hndl this.

 **Salem:** No fucking shit. You want to come yell at the interns for me instead?

 **Bailey:** nvm yay 4 depressing stag dos

 

**Soren Reid (@sorensoars)**

My bestie @Cris_Emerson is getting hitched :)

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

@sorensoars you forgot to add 'to a psycho' #justsaying #nervous #excited #IMightCry

 

**Kanani Kapuana (@Kanani_Hawaii)**

@ArthurBailey I'll be posting those online ;)

 

**Property of Crispin Emerson (@DorianII)**

@Cris_Emerson: There are people that come into your life and just change everything. You rise 2gether and fall 2get and find each other.

 

**Husband of Irial Dorian (@Cris_Emerson)**

@DorianII You're the best thing I ever got. I'm so glad we found each other. I love you #serendipity

 

**Breaking Fourth’s Cris Emerson ties the knot!**

It was only a few months previously that the world saw popstar and boybander, Cris Emerson, coming out and telling the world that not only was his pansexual but that for the past fouryears he’d been dating best friend and BBC Radio 1 DJ, Irial Dorian, but the pair have officially tied the knot this passed weekend in a small private ceremony with family and some two hundred or so friends that finished in a reception at Club Deccord. Their star-studded guest list included every from British film treasure, Penney Dear, to footballer, Arthur Bailey—whose been away in the US since his season-ending injury, to fellow pop band, Azadi, to actors, Charlie Beck and Patrick Gallagher, to tech mogul, Konstantin Kimura-Petrov, to model and rumored once-again girlfriend of Bailey, Kanani Kapuana. ‘It wasn’t as small as we wanted it,’ Irial said on his radio show, ‘but when we realized just _how many_ people knew us and cared about us we just wanted to include as many people as we could. It really did get a bit out of control.’

 

**Cameron Cunningham (@Cam76Tex)**

@ArthurBailey heyyyyy do I know you? #squintsinconfusion #raiseseyebrowsknowingly #yesido

* * *

 

“Do you not remember what running is or are you just having a lazy day, Cunningham?  Pick up the pace before I forgo practice and just have you all doing suicides until you’re vomiting!”

Cameron stopped and put his hands on his hips, narrowing his eyes on his former-turned-temporary coach with a clear challenge in them. “Did you forget your glasses at home, Bailey?  Clearly, I’m running.”

“ _Were_ running,” Shattuck-St. Mary’s U-16 development coach pointed out unhelpfully, positively gleeful that one of the best English Premier League players of their generation had not only stopped by to see one of his students and shuttle him from boarding school to meet up with his mother and younger sister in St. Paul. He’d been even more gleeful when he’d suggested that the boys might benefit from learning from one of the best in the industry despite Cameron’s attempted tactful disagreement. “Now, you’re standing there talking back.”

“Coach!” Cameron cried out, betrayed.

Bailey smirked, “Move your arse Cameron!  I have no idea how you expect to make the U-17 US FIFA team if you can’t even run.”

Cameron balked at him before shaking his head and throwing his hands up in a borderline tempermental display that had Bailey’s eyebrows rising as he looked at him chastisingly.  “I’m already _on_ the team.  We play in October,” he pointed out, crossing his arms and pouting.

Lips quirking up into a smile, Bailey inclined his head. “I know,” Cameron startled, blinking stupidly.  Bailey’s smile widened as he shrugged innocently, “Mario’s involved with FIFA. He texted me when you made the roster.” He paused while Cameron blinked at him with a growing, watery smile, the joy welling in him while Bailey rolled his eyes and looked at Cameron’s coach.  “Maybe it’s best to just call it a day.  _Most_ ,” he looked pointedly at Cameron who stuck his tongue out, “of the team worked hard today.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Cameron pointed a finger at Bailey who smirked and shrugged.  His team turned to gape at him while his coach glowered.  Wincing as he realized what he’d said, Cameron raised his hands innocently and smiled brilliantly at the man.  “Sorry, sorry,” he turned to Bailey, “but you _are_.”

Bailey barked out a laugh while Cameron’s teammate elbowed him, “Do you _know_ who he is?”

“ _My_ asshole,” he said fondly as the team gathered together to listen to Bailey and their coach bullshit their way through a goodbye/make sure you practice/have an excellent spring break speech.  When everyone began dispersing, Cameron stepped towards Bailey with a wide, timid smile.

Rolling his eyes and reaching out to ruffle Cameron’s hair, Bailey laughed when he yelped and ducked away, two hands over his hair while he scowled at Bailey.  He laughed harder.

“We should get you to St. Paul.  I’m sure your mother’d like to see you before you’re old, fat, and gray.”

“Are you sure we’re not talking about _you_?”  Cameron returned as they walked across the field. He paused, stumbling over his feet and forcing Bailey to catch him by his upper arm to hold him up, when he caught sight of the pair sitting on the side of the field and chatting happily.

The first he recognized intimately.  Broad-shoulder but lithe with the pale skin of someone who lived where cloud cover and cold weather was more usual than sunlight and a mop of unruly dark hair, Tanner Beauvais sat with his hands on his knees and a broad smile on his face as he talked to the person next to him.  Olive-toned skin, the slanted eyes of someone with Asian ancestry, and a distinctly androgynous look, the man had long hair dyed an ombre teal twisted up in bun and piercings in his eyebrow, lip, and nose.  His orange and white patterned nails tapped frantically on the knees of his crossed legs as he laughed at what Tanner said. Outrageously jade eyes flickered up to lock on Bailey with an unmitigated warmth and affection that made Cameron feel like a voyeur for witnessing it before they shifted to Cameron, his pierced eyebrow quirking.

Cameron stopped abruptly and turned to Bailey.  His eyes widened as he froze in his tracks as well, frowning quizzically.  “That guy…” he nodded towards the man sitting beside his best friend; Bailey raised his eyebrows and waited.  “Is that Salem?” Bailey nodded slowly and waited for the other shoe to drop.  Taking a deep breath, Cameron steeled himself and forged ahead.  “Is…are all those rumors true?  Is he your boyfriend?”

Bailey’s mouth dropped open in shock; Cameron could see Salem starting to stand up, concern written across his face until Bailey waved him off with a brusque, frantic motion.  Salem sat back, clearly unconvinced.  “Where did you even hear that?”

“The internet,” Cameron said.  _Obviously._ Bailey rolled his eyes; Cameron crossed his arms over his chest.  “Everyone’s talking about you two.”

“Yeah, everyone on Tumblr should shut the fuck up.  They’re not entitled to know anything.”

Cameron pursed his lips and looked at his former football coach in surprise. “ _You_ know what Tumblr is?”

Bailey decided to ignore this question in favor of looking at Cameron with a petulant if expectant look on his face.  “Does it matter?”

He wasn’t talking about Tumblr, for one.  And for two, _yeah_ it kind of did.

“Are you going to come out?”  Cameron demanded.

Bailey ran a hand through his hair with a shaky, hollow smile as he shook his head just slightly enough for Cameron to recognize it as an automatic, knee-jerk reaction.  “Why would I?”

“Um…” Cameron said, his tone brittle and borderline mocking, “because it would mean something.”

“To who?”  He shot back.

“To _me_ for one.  See that boy over there next to _your boyfriend_?  That’s Tanner.”

“Your best friend,” Bailey nodded his head, though his tone and the stricken look on his face said he knew that wasn’t exactly right.

“My boyfriend.  We’ve been dating since the beginning of the year.”

“You should have waited…” Bailey murmured, seeming uncomfortable with the whole conversation.

“For what?”  Cameron shot back, “He’s my best friend, and I’ve been in love with him since we met in _middle school_ , and he’s good.  _Really_ good. He’s going to leave to play junior league hockey in Canada when he’s eligible, and we’re not going to last. I know that.  _This_ is the time we have.  Right now.  Before he goes into the junior league to be scrutinized by the NHL and goes so deep into the closet even Narnia can’t find him.  _That’s_ the reality for being gay in sports.  I’m _fifteen_ , and that’s my future until someone does something about it.”

The look on Bailey’s face said Cameron didn’t have the slightest clue what he was talking about, but Cameron didn’t buy.  He wasn’t a kid talking out of his ass and trying to simplify a complicated issue.  It was a complicated issue, sure, but Cameron wasn’t wrong.  “People have tried before, Cameron, and it hasn’t worked out so well for any of them.  I mean, do you even know any of their names?  Not including the Packer’s player _who got cut_ , because Harry Styles wore his jersey on stage which is the only reason people even cared for the short time they did.”

“I get it,” Cameron threw his hands up, “the world isn’t kind to trailblazers.”

Bailey rolled his eyes, “I saw _Sufragette_ too, so can we not?”

He looked at Bailey sharply.  “You’re not just anybody, Bailey.  You’ve made a name for yourself.  You won the Olympics with England at _eighteen_.  You helped _England_ get a FIFA World Cup, which—let’s be real—no one thought would ever happen.”  Bailey gave him a sarcastic look.  “Don’t you think if anyone could survive coming out during their career it would be you?”

“This is real life not a fairytale,” Bailey snapped sternly. “I don’t think I want to find out.”

“So you’d rather just keep a whole part of yourself hidden forever? Keep the fact that you’re in love and in a relationship that makes you happy a secret until you retire and maybe passed that?  You think _that’s_ a more viable option?”

“I wouldn’t be the first.  It’s not _ideal_ , but it’s doable.”

“It’s safe,” Cameron corrected.

“Yes,” Bailey nodded his head.  “It’s not a big deal.”

Cameron balked, taking a step back and shaking his head in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? It’s a _huge_ deal. It’s not _fair_.”

“Life isn’t fair.”

“This isn’t life.  This is sports. The whole reason there are rules are to make the game fair, and that should include leaving who someone fucks out of the equation entirely.”

“It’s not about the game,” Bailey said tiredly, exasperated and weary. Cameron calmed down and put his hands on his hips defiantly, watching Bailey intently.  He sighed and continued, though he clearly didn’t want to. “It’s about public relations, endorsements, and team dynamics, which also really comes down to economics. People are sympathetic to non-heteronormative behavior _in theory_.  In practice, it’s whole different can of worms.  Economics says that in today’s society being something other than straight is a bad investment.  If I came out, chances were I’d mess up the team dynamics whether it was because I’d spent five years lying to them or because I like dick and have seen them all naked, it doesn’t matter.  Messed up team dynamics becomes a club issue and a franchise issue. Football fans don’t like when teams poorly perform, because my admission would have been the catalyst to shift dynamics I’d be the scapegoat, which means chances are I’d lose any endorsements that I hadn’t already lost due to business-typical homophobia disguised as breach of contract or foresight of potential issues to the reputation of the business as a whole.  Then there I am, alienated from my team and by extension the fans and the franchise with no endorsements that would encourage being kept on.  I’d be cut.  Plain and simple.”

“You don’t know that’s what would happen,” Cameron expressed in a small voice.

Bailey nodded his head.  “You’re right. I don’t.  It could go the complete other way…but that’s not typical and certainly not likely.”

Cameron bit his lip and looked over to Salem and Tanner who seemed to have forgone talking to rather poorly play a makeshift game of volleyball with a flat soccer ball that had been lying on the edge of the field. Sighing, he turned back Bailey. “So this is it then? This what life’s going to be like for athletes until the whole world changes?”  Bailey smiled sadly, and Cameron shook his head. “I get what you’re saying, but how does anything change if everyone just keeps the status quo waiting until _society_ changes?  The suffragettes _made_ society change, and if they hadn’t forced society’s hand then women would still be expected to get married, have babies, and otherwise sit prettily in the house like somekind of living china.  African-American’s marched on the capital and organized sit-ins and challenged people keeping them oppressed, they didn’t wait for people who’d had racial discrimination _bred into them_ to wake up in forty years and go ‘fuck it, we were wrong.’  Change doesn’t just _happen_.  Change is _forced_.” Bailey started to shake his head, but Cameron carried on.  “Do you know how the Irish stopped being oppressed when they emigrated here?”

“The mob?” Bailey suggested sarcastically.

“They took over the police force…and most of Boston.  So, honestly Bailey, I get where you’re coming from, but you’re wrong.”

“Everything alright?”  Tanner asked with feigned lightheartedness as he sidled up to them with an easy grin on his face, his gray eyes darting between the pair of them.

Salem followed more slowly, his gaze discerning, but he kept his mouth shut. Bailey glanced at him, and Salem cocked his head and raised his eyebrows.  When Bailey shook his head, Salem gave a single terse nod and grinned broadly. “So, here’s my question: does Minnesota have a Chick-Fil-A because I wouldn’t mind some.  I’m just saying.”

Cameron narrowed his eyes on Salem skeptically, but Tanner was the one who said, “ _Really_?”

“Really,” he nodded, blinking in realization and putting a hand to his chest, “what? People are so high and mighty these days.  They didn’t say they wouldn’t serve gays just that they wouldn’t support the gay rights movement as a _business_. Fair enough.  That’s your right as a known Christian based company. It’s like I wouldn’t ask a Christian hospital to give out birth control or perform abortions.  It’s fine.”

“And they have good chicken, right?”  Bailey shot back, bemused.

Salem’s smile turned nostalgic.  “Yeah, I’d forgive _a lot_ if good food was involved, not gonna lie.”

Tanner snorted and adjusted the bag slung over his shoulder. “We should pass one on the way to St. Paul.  In…Burnsville, right?” He turned to Cameron with a frown.

“Yep, Burnsville,” Cameron replied.

“You’re coming too?”  Salem inquired, glancing at Bailey.  “ _Someone_ didn’t tell me that.”

Bailey’s smile went easy and relaxed if not the slightest bit sly when he shrugged. “Must have slipped my mind…or I was distracted.”  His easy smile turned lascivious, and Cameron blushed, looking over to Tanner who bit back a laugh in his hand.

Salem caught it but didn’t call either of them on it as he rolled his eyes and flicked Bailey’s cheek with a painted fingernail. “You get distracted a fuck ton.”

“Only with you,” he promised, exceedingly fond.

Without crumbling in the slightest, Salem nodded his head sagely, “That’s why I avoid your PT appointments like the plague.”  Cameron and Tanner glanced at each other when Bailey scowled. Salem laughed and turned to the pair of them.  “He’s upset because every time he goes into physical therapy, I go to the movie theater down the street without him.  But, then, _I_ didn’t break his ACL.  He can suffer all alone.”

“You know what, I don’t think that’s what those vows entail. There’s something about sickness and health.”

“Depends on the vows.  Irial and Cris wrote their own.  Nothing was said about sickness and health.”

“We’re traditionalists,” Bailey smirked wryly.

Salem choked, “We’re _what_?”

“I see the weed’s finally impacted your cognitive abilities.”

“Not in front of the kids!” Salem huffed.

Bailey glanced back at them, his eyes lingering on Tanner before he turned back to Salem. “Tanner’s a hockey player. I’m sure he’s had marijuana before.”

“Um…” Tanner started and blushed as both men turned to face him speculatively. He shrunk against Cameron’s side with wide-eyes and a nervous smile.  Salem quirked an eyebrow, and Tanner sighed, “Don’t tell my mother.”

“Told you,” Bailey told Salem.

“You have the weirdest mentor,” Tanner pointed out to Cameron rather unnecessarily.

Seeing Bailey off the field and away from people who expected him to be a certain way was strange.  He’d picked up on the discrepancy between Bailey’s public persona and his private ones in their online communications, but Bailey with Salem entered a whole new realm of personality that absolutely took Cameron completely aback.

Brilliant as it was to see Bailey so secure, confident, and open, it only made Cameron more certain that he was right.  Extreme self-closeting in the sports world wasn’t healthy, and it certainly wasn’t right.  Someone had to do something about it, but Cameron understood Bailey’s hesitance just as much. Cameron’s family had been supportive when he’d come out, and so had Tanner’s, but they’d both been followed by the same inevitable question of what that meant going forward in their careers—would they public _be_ out or not—and both of them had said they wanted to play professional sports, which had equated them to being an open secret with all the people that mattered.

Maybe it was naïve, but with Tanner walking at his side and his eyes following Bailey and Salem as they argued back and forth on whether or not Hollywood should keep recycling the same four superheroes over and over again with entirely too much enthusiasm for a fairly pointless topic, Cameron didn’t understand why people were so concerned with making people unhappy to protect their own worldview. It just didn’t make any fucking sense.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I actually haven't seen Suffragette yet, but my friend saw it during the British film festival and said it was amazing and we talked about it in one of my classes.
> 
> Shattucks-St. Marys really does exist, is really that distance from Minneapolis, and does have a Starbucks on the route via Burnsville. I'm a bit of a hockey fanatic and it turns out solid hockey players (thus why I know this school exists).
> 
> These political opinions are political opinions and whether or not you or I or anyone else agrees with them...chillax. It's a novel not Mein Kampf. I always feel like politics needs that disclaimer especially when it's about American politics.
> 
> As for Tanner having smoked weed because he's a hockey player at boarding school, I will fight you on this. He's a teenage boy at boarding school primarily for academically and athletically gifted children, the boy's had weed.
> 
> I feel like this was well-timed after Katherine's...Katherine-ness. Totally different opinion from Cameron. Also I lied. This is going to be 60 chapters. I was aiming for 58 but I'm writing chapter 57 tonight...I can't end it in the next chapter. Not gonna happen. I could probably wrap by 59 but what a god awful number to wrap at! Nope. 60. Nice round number.


	49. "If I Go" by Ella Eyre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Georgia and Salem have half a heart-to-heart. Bailey and Rafa finally talk it out.

**Text message to Charlie**

**Bailey:** How averse wd ur mum b 2 lettng me board a crazy mare?

 **Charlie:** If I told her it was yours?

 **Charlie:** She’d cry tears of joy

 **Charlie:** She’s a bit of a football fan

 **Charlie:** It’s embarrassing

 **Bailey:** :D I have this horse…

 **Charlie:** Lol I’ll see what I can do

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

I go away for a few months and come back with an extra 500kg #america

 

**Benedikt Roland (@Bennyboy9)**

@ArthurBailey what????

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

@Bennyboy9 my horse. I’m bringing my horse.

 

**Kimura Michi (@Kimura_Michi)**

@ArthurBailey no dogs but horses are great! #logic

 

**Kanani Kapuana (@Kanani_Pahala)**

@Kimura_Michi @ArthurBailey exactly! My cocker spaniel feels discriminated against!

 

To: theghostsofsalem@gmail.com

From: kimura.ryu@gmail.com

Subject: RE: Visiting

Hikari and I would be happy to have you and your partner come visit for a while, Daiki, you know this. Besides, I imagine Hikari would love a chance to take you up into her office and show you off. Let us know when you plan to arrive, and we will pick you both up from the airport. Do not bother arguing. It’s no trouble. And I would rather we steal you before Michi has a chance to.

Ryu

 

**Text message to Harry**

**Salem:** That seems extremely inappropriate

 **Harry:** You could really just text Iri that

 **Salem:** No no, he’ll be much more willing to listen to you

 **Harry:** I regret ever introducing you two

 **Salem:** Is that what you did? I remember him showing up to my opening

 **Harry:** And I remember YOU befriending him

 **Salem:** You were unavailable

 **Harry:** I know it sucks having a job that actually requires attention and work

 **Salem:** I feel like you’re going somewhere with that…

 **Harry:** Nope. Go back and bask in that South Dakota sunshine

 **Salem:** The fuck do you think South Dakota’s located (also no weed and alcohol x_x)

* * *

“…and that’s why the whole prototype exploded.”  Oliver finished his long-winded explanation with a whoosh of breath, and Salem narrowed his eyes, gnawing on the knuckle of his fist as he waited for Oliver to get that he absolutely was not buying his excuse for what had apparently happened in the robotics lab.  To be fair, Salem had reviewed the tapes.  He wasn’t going to punish someone for trying to be innovative even if it had led to the whole building being evacuated, but the forty-five minute roundabout explanation that made _no sense_ and really tried to justify without quite _justifying_ why some £500 of electronics had just exploded was a bit much. Oliver sighed and hung his head, as he pleaded meekly, “Please don’t fire me.”

A sharp rap came from the door, and Salem quirked an eyebrow, “Come in!”

The door opened to reveal Georgia in all her gaudy glory, and Salem frowned but didn’t bother addressing her as he turned back to his hangdog, wincing techs.  He looked ready for the killing blow.  Clearly, Oliver—like all Salem’s terrified, intimidated techs—hadn’t realized this was a _business_ not the Hunger Games.  Honestly, he was tempermental and a perfectionist, but he was not the Queen of Hearts who’d ‘off with their head’ anyone who made a mistake.

Salem waved Georgia further into the room as he turned to Oliver. “I’m not going to fire you. Next time, watch your wiring, yeah? And for fuck’s sake just give me the short version in the future.”

“There won’t be a…” Oliver started, stopping on Salem’s pointed look.

“There will absolutely be a next time.  It’s fine.  Go away.” Oliver practically sprinted from the room, closing the door behind him.  Salem sighed with exhaustion and dropped his head on the desktop.

After spending majority of the passed three months living with Bailey’s grandparents (and often Tasha) in South Dakota, they’d come back to London for the next few weeks to make sure they had their lives together before going to Japan for the summer.  _And isn’t that terrifying?_ Salem forced himself not to think about that, and, frankly, he really didn’t have the time.

The moment Salem had stepped foot in building it had been one thing after another from every department and an impromptu visit from Harry who’d announced the whole thing as “this is not a social call” and set to work going on about how people kept calling to ask if Salem would be willing to do a more personal interview.  And no, Salem had no intention of letting anyone pick apart his private life, especially not in print where he only had so much control and once it was out there, it was _out there_ and suing or not, it always would be what it was.

Salem had had enough conversation with Irial and had been exposed to enough gossip magazines when Cris Emerson had still be a distant, far off figure for Salem to be comfortable giving an interview where he’d have to suffice a huge portion of the truth with shade, inneuendo, and half-truths. For Bailey, Cris Emerson, and even Charlie, those interviews were par the course.  They came with the territory.  For Salem, they were the exception not the rule.  In actuality, he could get away with press conferences focused on his company and his products and the occasional press release on a specific topic for a longtime in the forseeable future.

He’d looked Harry dead in the eye and asked, “If you got me in a room with a reporter who asked me about my personal life which is almost literally just Bailey since I’m such a workaholic and so are all my closest friends, how well do you think I could lie my way out of that corner?”

Harry had dropped the subject and instead dragged the execs in the office for a meeting about product development and marketing as they prepared to move into the midway point of the fiscal year.

Between Charlie’s mother, dealing with transporting a very disgruntled mustang all the way to London from South Dakota, and his company trying to act like they’d imploded when he’d been running around the US, effectively delaying Regulus’s moving over there, Salem barely had time to eat. Bailey had dragged him out of the office for midnight food runs at least four times the first week he was back. They made it seem like Salem hadn’t been in constant contact the entire time he’d been gone… _at all hours._

“You wanted to see me?”  Georgia hedged carefully, stepping into the room.

“Yeah,” Salem nodded, even as he peered at the email that had popped up on his screen from Harley that seemed half-rant and half-pessimism about the company going under because the marketing department kept going over their budget. He pulled out his phone and fired off a text message to Dane that simply read: **Stop pissing off Harley**.  “Take a seat.”

Georgia cleared her throat nervously even as she crossed the room and sat down primly, her chin tipped up and her lips pressed together in a tight line. She rested her hands in her lap and stared at Salem, expectantly.  “Yes?”

He narrowed his eyes on her and tapped his fingers on his desk thoughtfully. Leaning back in his chair, Salem watched her through narrowed eyes before deciding to approach one topic at a time. Best not to make Georgia feel attacked. God help him if _that_ happened. “Over the summer I’m going to need you to make sure you’re available.  You might have to fly out to Japan a couple times.  Naturally that will be a company expense. Yes, you’ll still get vacation. Yes even when I’m not _here_ , you will be.  I’m just clarifying because you sometimes forget you’re an adult, and most adults do things like work in the summer so they can afford rent and food.”

She blinked at him before blurting, “You’re going to Japan all summer?”

“Yes…” Salem said slowly, nodding.  “I’m bringing a few of the developers to work with my stepmother’s company…and maybe Reg.  Dane’ll be in and out too. It’s not a _vacation_ …well, not completely.”

Georgia held up one of her manicured hands, and Salem quirked an eyebrow, bemused, but did fall silent, tilting his head to study her.  “You’re bringing Bailey?”

“Out of line,” Salem said point-blank.

“You’re bringing Bailey to meet Ryu and Hikari and Izumi? _I_ didn’t even meet them.”

Salem whistled as his phone clattered out of his hand and onto the desk. “We’re _definitely_ not talking about this.”

Georgia continued on as if she hadn’t heard…or didn’t care. The latter seemed most likely. “The only reason I met Michi was because—”

“He hijacks my life?  Yes, I know. That’s enough.”

“I didn’t know you were serious, Salem.  I didn’t even know you were dating!”  Georgia said angrily.

“That’s because I didn’t tell you.  Don’t get mistaken, Georgia, you’ve been in my life for a long time, but we’re not friends.  You fucked me over, and I don’t care what the reasons were that it ended, because you fucked me over long before that.  We’re not talking about it.  I do not want to talk about it ever again.  My business is mine. You’re an employee here. You’re an acquaintance I once knew biblically but I’d sure as hell hesitate to say intimately. You live with my boyfriend’s best friend.  That’s it. That’s all this is. Now, go and do something useful. Or at the very least pretend.” Georgia glowered, her face flushed with fury, but she did get to her feet and turned towards the door when Salem called her name again.  Georgia turned back, an eyebrow crooked defiantly.  “Do not ask anyone in finance for a raise again, especially Harley. You shouldn’t even have _access_ to Harley.”

Georgia blanched and bridged the gap to stand in front of Salem’s desk. “No, no, no please, Sale. I need the money.”

“What you _need_ is to learn how to budget your spending habits. Of everyone in this company that deserves a raise, you don’t even make the top 90%.  I can’t justify giving you a raise when Adrienne constantly proves that she’s doing most of your job…which is why I gave _her_ a raise.” Georgia’s mouth dropped open in surprise but her face shone with fury; Salem went on before she could speak, unwilling to listen to more sob story.  “The only reason I haven’t fired you is because I’ve been so busy and you’ve been so absent that it didn’t really seem like that big a deal. It would have meant more paperwork for me so I let it go, but if I can barely justify paying you living wage when you don’t even show up half the time, there’s no way in hell I’d give you a raise.”

“Salem…” Georgia started darkly.

“We’re done,” Salem responded coldly, shaking his head. “This is your final warning. If I hear anything more about this from Harley you might as well stay home indefinitely because I’ll fire you. That’s all.”  With an indignant, irate look, Georgia marched out of the office and slammed the door behind her; Salem put his head on his desk wishing for two minutes of silence.  The phone rang.

Sighing, he picked it up.

“Those two graphics and game developers are here for you,” Adrienne said into the phone.

Salem _wanted_ to sleep but he said, “Send them in.” 

* * *

“Look who’s back!”  Carey yelled as he noticed Bailey standing beside their coach on the sidelines of the practice pitch.  Bailey glanced up at his friend as he completely abandoned his goal to sprint over with a wide, impish smile.  He stopped in front of Bailey.  “You’re back.” Over his shoulder, Bailey could see Jorge with his hands on his hips, laughing at Carey’s cheeky comment.

“For the time being,” Bailey returned with a shrug.  “My horse is going to be here so I wanted to be in the country to help get her settled.”

“And then?”  Jared asked as he decided to forgo his position as well, leaning against Carey’s shoulder.

“And then I’m going to Japan,” Bailey told him.

“You lucky son of a bitch,” Carey bit out while Bailey laughed.

The rest of the team, it seemed, decided to join them. Jorge shouldered his way between Carey and Jared with a wide smile.  “Let’s ask the _real_ questions please: how’s your physical therapy going?”

Erik groaned, “It’s all about football with you.  He’s going to Japan!”

“He’s shipping a horse into the country.  Can we talk about _that_?”  Alejandro put in, “I didn’t even know you knew how to ride.”

“My grandmother’s a riding instructor, rescues mustangs, and breeds barrel racing horses, though not strictly Quarter Horses.”  Bailey admitted sheepishly, noting the raised eyebrows of surprise, before nodding his head at the purple box sitting on the ground, “Oh, and I brought cupcakes for everyone.”

“Ooh,” Jared and Alejandro said at the same time, reaching for the box until Wes knocked both of them on the back of the head.  They pulled back abruptly and scowled at him as they rubbed the back of their heads.

Carey blinked at them, grinning stupidly, “Did you stop at Molly’s bakery?”

“Hmm? Yeah.  Molly says hi, and Alana’s lying across one of the booths coughing ever five minutes and pretending she’s ill.  It was funny,” Bailey informed Carey who smiled fondly. He shook his head and looked at Jorge. “Physical therapy can suck my dick.” Rafa scoffed derisively, and Bailey shot him a searching look, nodding once and laughing bitingly. Carey leveled Rafa with a hard look, and Bailey forced his attention to Jorge.  “It’s going well enough.  I saw Dr. Talin today, my orthopaedic something-or-other at the hospital, and Maurice, and it looks like I’ll probably be able to start next season on time…as long as I keep up my physical therapy regimen in Japan.”

Jorge’s smile dimmed just slightly as he nodded in understanding. “How likely is that?”

“Well, Maurice called a colleague who works as a club doctor for the Japanese Football League, and _he_ called a local therapist in Tokyo who was willing to continue my treatment.  So it looks good,” Bailey couldn’t manage to hold back his bright, gleeful grin.

With an equally bright smile and a nod, Jorge turned his attention back to Jared and Alejandro who had managed to grab ahold of the box, but froze when they realized they been caught.  Wes rolled his eyes, and Erik smothered laughter behind his hand. Carey marched over and plucked the box out of their hand, sticking his tongue out at the crestfallen expressions. Jorge sighed, “Maybe we should go enjoy pastries since it seems the natives are getting restless.”

Jared and Alejandro cheered, throwing their arms around the rookie’s shoulders and tugging the startled defender along for the ride.  The rest of the team followed along behind except for Bailey who locked eyes with Rafa, crossing his arms over his chest and quirking an eyebrow. As the rest of the team walked away, the low hum of their conversation fading the further they got. The pair of them remained behind, and when Bailey felt the team had gone quite far enough, he sniffed.

“You know, I thought that might be it, but I didn’t really see how you could know,” Bailey started before smiling humorlessly.  “But you _do_ know, don’t you?”

“About Salem?”  Rafa hissed.

“About _me_ ,” Bailey corrected, “I’m gay, Rafa.  Dating Salem didn’t _make_ me that way.”

“If you’re trying to make me out to be some kind of a homophobe…”

“Aren’t you?”  He shot back harshly.

Rafa’s jaw slammed together with an audible click, outrage flickering across his face, which altogether surprised Bailey.

“It’s not about you being gay!”  Rafa snapped at Bailey who raised his eyebrows and took a step back. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, steadying himself before they snapped back open and locked on Bailey. “It’s about the fact that we’ve been friends for _years_ , and you lied to me.  You lied to all of us.”

“It’s not about you!  It’s never been about you.  You’re not entitled to know something like that!”  Bailey shouted at Rafa.

Rafa threw his hands up and took a step back.  “If that was the _only_ problem, then it wouldn’t be one at all!  We don’t know anything about you except who your family is, and we only know that because they’re in the news! Everything else is a complete blank! We all thought _for years_ that you were dating Kanani, and don’t say it’s because no one ever specifically asked, that we all just _assumed_.  We all just _assumed_ because you intentionally led us to believe that!”

“Of course I did!  And you spent the last year proving that I was right to keep it from everyone! You’re standing here and telling me that you crucified me because I lied to you, but I’ve misled a lot of people on a lot of things.  Would have mattered that I lied if it hadn’t been about my sexuality?”

“All I needed was for you not to lie about shit,” Rafa intoned in a quiet, subdued tone like he was trying to calm a spooked animal.

Bailey didn’t buy it, and it certainly didn’t help make him feel any better. “And all _I_ needed was for you to be friend!  All I needed was for you to talk to me about what was bothering you instead of throwing me over because I didn’t tell you something extremely personal and absolutely fragile.”

“Bailey…” Rafa started with a sigh.

“No,” Bailey cut him off pointedly, “you were mean.  You were cruel.  It was absolutely unnecessary the way you treated me, and everyone knew. Caroline and Carey were telling me not to look too deeply into it, to let you work it out while you spent everyday being an absolutely wanker for no reason that I could work out because I was ‘giving you time and space.’  To what? To wrap your head around my not being straight?  That was enough for you to completely isolate me and be hostile enough for it to make headlines!”

Rafa flinched; his head turning away as a guilty look flashed across his face.

Though he knew it shouldn’t, it reassured him slightly. Maybe Rafa wasn’t just talking out of his ass.  Maybe he hadn’t thrown away their friendship—thrown away Bailey—because Bailey was gay. Maybe it _was_ because of the lying, but at the end of the day, Bailey supposed it didn’t matter. What mattered was how hurt he’d been, what one of his closests friends had done to him for _months_. No matter the reason, it had happened. It had hurt.  A knife going through his ribcage in the form of a betrayal by a friend, someone he had trusted as much as he could then.

Bailey cleared his throat and tried to force back the tears threatening to spill from his eyes.  “We need to find a way to work together, but I don’t trust you anymore than, it seems, you trust me.”

Rafa and Bailey stared at each other for a moment, the cavernous distance between them seeming far too large to ever be bridged.

Rafa sighed, “I’m…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bailey cut him off hastily.  “It happened.  You can’t take it back, and I can’t just forget about it.  So we move forward from here, but teammates is truly the extent of it.”

Bailey nodded his head and took a step back, turning to head inside with the rest of the team.  Rafa called out to him, and he tensed, turning back to face the man who he’d once considered his friend but could barely trust as a teammate after all this time. The man seemed ashamed, guilty, even regretful, though he’d hesitate to be sure of the last.

“It really wasn’t because you were gay,” Rafa promised.

“It really doesn’t matter now,” Bailey informed him, because at the end of the day, it hadn’t hurt any less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoooooo. Georgia's a bitch, and she's one of those really annoying kinds that make you feel guilty for feeling the way you do about their behaviour. Is it hard to believe she gets worse? She will. Soon.
> 
> More meet-the-fam tomorrow because I'll admit Bailey getting adopted by all of Salem's various family members and friends just makes me warm and fuzzy inside. Also, this needed to happen. I talked about Salem's Japanese side of the family for ages and ages. Now you get to meet them.
> 
> The way to get a horse to London from the USA is craaaazy. Also they have to be quarantined. It's a little weird since I looked into quarantine laws for international pet travel when I still held out hope of bringing my cat with me back to school. They just have to get a shot and the all-clear from a vet with paperwork and you can bring them in. Bizarre.
> 
> Rafa's an asshole and, yes, he's a bit homophobic, but to be fair, he's trying harder than Bailey's family does. He's just not good at feelings.


	50. "Crazy Youngsters" by Ester Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner with the fam...without the Bailey family personal drama

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

Give her sugar cubes and a sip of Coke and all’s right in the world apparently #tempermentalmares

 

**Alejandro Mejia (@AlejoM34)**

@ArthurBailey not to nitpick but is that even good for horses?

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

@AlejoM34 honestly at that point it was anything to get her to relax

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

@Kimura_Michi why do you go out of the house looking so ridiculous?

 

**Kimra Michi (@Kimura_Michi)**

@Salem_Daiki excuse you, it is called harajuku. Street fashion. I am stylin.

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

Japan’s amazing. I think I’ve been kidnapped after an 11hr flight, but Japan’s amazing.

 

To: rubio.maurice@arsenalfc.org.uk

From: kingarthurb@gmail.co.uk

Subject: RE: PT

Okay, to be honest, I don’t understand half of the words that come out of my physical therapist’s mouth, but I swear his pushes me harder than any coach I’ve ever had. He made me cry last week.

That being said Salem says that my therapist is confident my knee will be strong enough to start competition by kickoff. If I don’t die from his therapy regimen first.

Arthur Bailey

 

To: salem.petrov@daiki.co.uk

From: regulus.lahey@daiki.co.uk

Subject: Your stepmother

Salem,

Ikigai is definitely interested in us buying out the company, especially if we intend to keep all the staff on to be our offices and oversee business in Japan, but your stepmother is a hardass who wants an unreasonable amount of a money for a small if powerful company that isn’t worth that. I’m not saying I can’t handle it and maybe you should negotiate, but if you wanted to that’d be fine. Also, I got you and three of the developers you brought over there permission to work with Canon and see how to improve camera quality. I’ll be out of her in a week to meet you in Japan, but if you could maybe start looking at retail space before I arrive?  That would be spectacular.

Regulus Lexton Lahey

COO, The Daiki Company

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

“@Salem_Daiki: :’( so much work I’m on vacation” no, I’m on vacation you’re on a business trip.

* * *

Admittedly, Bailey hadn’t been sure about Japan.

There was adventure and then there was the kind of foreign that scared the living shit out of him, because Europe, he understood.  Understood the rules.  Understood the people. Understood the culture. Japan was a whole other animal, and at least half the time he’d be going at it alone as this wasn’t a vacation for Salem but an extended business trip that had him spending ten hour days in boardrooms and electronics laboratories playing CEO.

Luckily, between Izumi who’d dedicated the summer between her final year of secondary school and her first year at university to running around Tokyo trying to find herself, and Michi who, aside from his occasional rehearsals, had nothing better to do than drag Bailey around the city sightseeing, he’d had all the help he could get. Certainly, Bailey had never been bored. In fact, he’d been awakened once at five in the morning just after Salem had left to play with cameras at Canon by Michi and his fellow boyband members who’d stuffed him into a car and driven him six hours to sightsee in Kyoto.

Salem hadn’t been happy he hadn’t been invited along.

“ _Kon’nichiwa gaijin_ ,” Izumi greeted cheerfully, a smirk on her face as she looked passed Bailey to Salem who raised his eyebrows at her with a clear-cut scowl.

Bailey nodded at her and pressed his lips together deciding it in his best interest to stay out of whatever nonsense was playing out between the pair of siblings.  He moved into the dining room while Salem narrowed his eyes on his half-sister.

“Can we refrain from calling him that?”  Salem asked tightly.

“I thought you said it wasn’t an insult,” Bailey interjected with raised eyebrows.

Salem pointed a finger at him warningly.  “It isn’t.”

“Except that it is,” Ryu added while Salem nodded as though that somehow made sense.  He turned towards his only daughter with narrowed eyes. “Kindly refrain from calling Bailey a _gaijin_. He’s not an ‘outsider,’ he’s Daiki’s partner.”

“I just do it to upset Daiki,” Izumi added with an impish grin.  Salem rolled his eyes.

Kimura Izumi seemed like the perfect cross between Salem and Michi in personality, which made her either intolerable to most people or completely adored.  She was just as beautiful as her brother’s as well with her olive toned, flawless skin, lithe frame, and pink and black hair that fell only just passed her shoulders and framed her face beautifully.  Under her brother’s influence, she’d become a connoisseur of harajuku fashion with wild clothes, minimal but intense makeup, and interesting accessories.

Her mother, Hikari, was her spitting image only older, colder, and far more subdued with long dark hair usually twisted up in a ponytail and a veritable collection of pantsuits. Ryu’s genetics seemed evident on all of his children but most especially his sons with his defined both structure, gorgeous skin, and thick dark hair cut short.

They were, according to Salem, atypical.  Hikari had always been primarily the breadwinner of the family, at least in terms of income. She was a workaholic CEO of a small electronics company, one Salem had put his mind and being into acquiring—Hikari seemed amenable enough to the idea as Salem had every intention of keeping the staff in place but was reluctant to meet Salem halfway in terms of price—where his father worked as a professor at an international university teaching business economics.

The whole family was inordinately smart, especially Michi, Bailey had come to learn, though he preferred to play dumb ninety percent of the time and channel his outrageous intelligence into music and art instead of business, teaching, or innovation like the rest of the his family.

Hikari walked into the room in a flourish and focused her eyes first on Izumi and then on Salem in term, both of them shrinking back under her look.  “Izumi, go put the miso soup in a serving bowl. Daiki, take the chicken karaage out of the pan and plate it.”

“ _Hai haha_ ,” the pair of them said in turn, darting towards the kitchen while Hikari set down rice and potato salad.

She turned to Ryu who nodded his head at his wife before she could speak.  “I’ll go get the bowls, _hai_?”

Hikari nodded primely, her husband departing, as she looked around the room with a huff, her eyes locking on Bailey.  A slight smile curved on her lips.  “And where is my son?”

Bailey bit back a smile and shrugged slightly.

Salem and Izumi reappeared with the rest of the food, placing it on the table while Ryu reentered, splitting the bowls with Salem and Hikari who began setting the table while Izumi flitted back into the kitchen.  Bailey rocked back on his heels and played with his fingers, watching uncomfortably.

It had been five weeks since he’d been considered a guest and not asked or wanted for assistance. He and Salem had been staying with Izumi, Hikari, and Ryu in their four-bedroom house forty minutes out in the suburbs.  It wasn’t a horrible train ride into the city—he’d taken longer in London—and most of the time, Ryu or Hikari drove him when they commuted for work.  Within seven days of staying with the Kimura family, Hikari had set her sights on Bailey and began giving him the same terse, unforgiving orders she gave her Salem and her children, expecting it to be done. And he’d willingly complied, grateful to be doing something.

Those rules, it seemed, had been abandoned for now.

Hikari much preferred Michi’s updated kitchen and dining room in his sleek, luxury apartment in Shibuya, right down the street from where harajuku fashion was birthed, so she’d declared that the family dinner before Michi’s band started their cross-Asia tour would be had at _his_ apartment.  Michi hadn’t seemed thrilled by that, but he had also known better than to object to his mother’s wishes.  Hikari was a force to be reckoned with, like all the women in Salem’s family, but unlike the others, Bailey didn’t want to find out how far she’d go to get her way.

The front door opened accompanied by the sound of Michi’s voice calling out, “ _Tadaima_!”

“ _Okaerinasai_!”  Hikari called back, rolling her eyes and slanting Bailey an annoyed look. “My son.  Always late.”

“Not always, _mama_.” Michi interjected as he stepped into the room with a sheepish smile on his face, a familiar man following close at his heels.  “I brought a guest.”

Salem and Izumi both froze, mouths falling open in shock as they took in Michi’s bandmate. Ryu smiled and waved in greeting while Hikari just nodded her head at him.  “ _Konbanwa, Fukui-san._ ”

Fukui Katsu, Michi’s bandmate and best friend, smiled slightly and inclined his head in greeting, not moving from Michi’s side.  “ _Hisashiburi_ , _Kimura-san._ ”

Bailey had met Katsu a handful of times, always in Michi’s company, but often enough to know he practically lived with his bandmate.  He always looked chic, often in monochrome with tight pants, long and flowy shirts, and a wide collection of tophats that he wore atop his bleached, platinum blond hair. Unlike Michi, Katsu had no tattoos, not a single piercing, and seemed to abhor both color and accessories passionately.

“ _You_ brought a guest?” Izumi snorted doubtfully before turning to Katsu with a girlish but not flirtatious smile.  “ _Konbanwa Katsu-chan._ ”

Katsu laughed and shook his head with a broad smile.  “ _Konbanwa Izumi-chan_.”  His eyes darted to Salem and he nodded in greeting, “ _Daiki-san_.”

Salem snorted, “We’e going to be formal _now_?  After all the time we’ve known each other and after all the horror stories I’ve heard about you on tour?”  Katsu’s eyes widened and cut to Michi accusingly.  Salem nodded, “Exactly.  Didn’t think so. Please tell me you two finally got your shit together.”

Ryu paused to stare balefully at his son.  “Daiki.”

“ _Gomennasai_ ,” Salem replied lightly, though he didn’t stop staring plaintively at Michi who seemed unimpressed.

Katsu met Bailey’s gaze and rolled his eyes, less impressed with their behavior that Bailey was himelf. When Michi seemed unlikely to answer, Katsu nodded his head and admitted, “Yes, Daiki, your brother and I are dating.”

“It’s about damn time,” Salem remarked.  Ryu and Hikari both looked up at him, and he waved off their words with a hand and a mumbled, half-hearted apology.  “I thought Michi would screw the whole country before you _manuke_ finally got it together.”

“ _Daiki-kun_!” Hikari snapped.

Bailey hadn’t quite gotten a hold on the honorifics most Japanese attached to people’s names, especially when they did it informally in front of friends and family and in relation to their spouses.  But he’d never heard Hikari call Salem ‘Daiki-kun,’ and Salem flinched and bowed slightly towards his stepmother.

“ _Suimasen_ ,” Salem offered, wincing when all she did was glare.

Michi rolled his eyes and flicked Salem.  “You talk, but how long did you and Bailey dance around each other?”

“Not as long as you and Katsu.”

Katsu nodded his head sagely, smirking when Michi shot him an exaggerated look of betrayal. Instead, he turned to Salem and half-shrugged, “I thought I was being obvious.  Apparently, Michi missed all of my signals. This was not my fault.” He turned to Michi and crossed his arms over his chest.  “And at least your brother and Bailey knew they wanted each other.  I had to pine and be pined over because you wouldn’t touch me.”

“Enough,” Hikari remarked as Michi grimaced.  Salem looked between them smugly, only stopping when Bailey arched an eyebrow at him and shook his head once.  They all turned to Hikari who huffed and pointed at the table.  “ _Okake kudasai_!  That is not polite supper talk, and I will hear no more of it.”

They all pressed their lips together and moved to follow her order without complaint. Ryu watched them from the head of the table with a blank face but amusement in his eyes.  Hikari sat across from her husband.  Bailey grabbed a seat next to Salem, ignoring Izumi’s scowl as she moved to Salem’s other side closest to her mother as Katsu and Michi sat down opposite them.  Silently, they took turns filling their bowls before saying almost simultaneously, “ _Itadakimasu_ ,” a before eating thanks to Hikari for preparing the food.

Bailey eyed his chopsticks distrustfully, popping a piece of chicken in his mouth with his fingers. Salem hid an amused grin behind his own rice-filled chopsticks while Michi and Izumi didn’t bother to hide theirs.

Ryu took a sip of his miso soup straight from the bowl before turning to Michi and Katsu. “Where is your first concert after playing Tokyo?”

“Nayoga,” Katsu and Michi answered in unison.  Michi cleared his throat awkwardly, “You’re coming to the first one, right? In Tokyo.”

“Of course,” Ryu nodded. “Izumi’s very excited about it, and it will be Bailey’s first j-pop concert, I take it.”

“I won’t understand anything, but we’ll be there,” Bailey promised Michi who smiled slightly until Bailey added, “Salem bought tickets for all three dates you were in Tokyo.”

Michi stilled before his gaze darted to Salem.  “Daiki _why_?”

“Because I love and want to support you, naturally,” Salem remarked before shrugging slightly as he popped a piece of fried chicken into his mouth.  “Also, it makes you ridiculously nervous for some reason, and I enjoy seeing you sweat, especially since you’re in the habit of popping up in places you shouldn’t be and invading my life.”

“You’re my brother,” Michi told him tonelessly.

Salem nodded, “Exactly, which is why Bailey and I want to come and support you in your hour of need.”

“My hour of…” Michi started.

Katsu, wisely, cut him off when he continued by turning to Izumi.  “What are you up to Izumi?  University?”

Izumi cleared her throat nervously, setting down her chopsticks.  “No, not exactly.”

Ryu frowned in disapproval, and Hikari glowered at him until he stopped and fixed his face back into its usual blank mask, the only emotion to be seen lurking in the back of his eyes.

“I thought maybe I’d intern.”

“With mom?” Michi asked.

Izumi laughed nervously, and Salem stopped eating to quirk an eyebrow at his sister. “No, with Daiki. In London.”

“Absolutely not,” Salem bit out before he seemed to even think it over.  Michi raised his eyebrows and shared a long look with Katsu. Bailey kicked Salem’s leg and gave him a look to shut up.  He wouldn’t listen, but God knew he needed to.  “You can’t just come to London and intern with me.  We have a process.  I’m not even in charge of that.”

“You’re in charge of _everything_ ,” Izumi argued.  “And couldn’t you pull some strings for your little sister?”

“Why would I?” Salem shot back.

“Salem,” Bailey growled.

Salem glanced at him, sighed, and turned back to Izumi.  “I _own_ the company, yes, but it’s a lot easy saying ‘no we can’t do that’ than superceding Nihal’s authority to hire and fire at his discretion. _I_ gave him that power, and it would be ridiculous and extremely callous of me to take it away. All of our interns are university students with an average of 3.7 or higher or currently holding a 2:1 degree depending.  Each department handpicks which interns they want adhereing to those standards and if they don’t adhere, they have to run it by Nihal for special permission. You’re an 18-year-old with no proveable background in this work and with no discernable plan to attend university. What am I supposed to tell Nihal?”

Izumi fumed, “Having a university degree doesn’t prove my skillset.”

“No,” Salem agreed with her, “but it provides potential employers with a marginal confidence that you know what you’re talking about.  Grades don’t make the world, and having a degree doesn’t prove you’ve got a modicum of intelligence.  However, in terms of being hired by employers, it gives us confidence in at least some of your abilities. Why don’t you just intern with Hikari-san?”

Bailey could see by the clenching of her jaw that that was exactly the wrong thing to ask. “You mean at the company you’re taking over?”

Salem’s eyebrows went up. “How do you even know that?”

“I can read the news,” she snarked back.

Hikari cleared her throat, and all eyes swiveled to her as she raised her chin and met Salem’s gaze. “Daiki-san, Ryu-san and I are not necessarily ecstatic about this,” her gaze cut to Ryu whose face, though blank, seemed bleak enough to express how that was absolutely an understatement. “But we feel if this is what Izumi-chan wants then we’d best let her make her way while we are here to support her.”

Salem took a deep breath, “Where would she live in London?”  All eyes went to him, and Bailey just snorted at Salem’s naïve question. He cursed in Russian under his breath. “Fucking hell, really? There goes my s—”

“Salem!” Bailey cut him off, eyes wide as he felt his face go red.

Katsu shared an amused look with Michi, and Salem shot him an apologetic look.  He sighed and turned to Izumi.  “I know how good you are at…tinkering, but I’m not going to take in someone with no feasible experience and nothing but practical knowledge to back it up.” Izumi opened her mouth to argue, and Salem held up a hand and shook his head.  “Here’s the deal, you go to university in London part-time or full time, it doesn’t matter they’re hardly in class anyway, and I’ll take you on as an intern provided Bailey’s okay with you living in his house.”

Bailey scoffed when Izumi’s pleading gaze shot to him.  “I’m not Salem. It’s not a big deal.”

Izumi made a face. “I _have_ to go to university?”

“Yeah,” Salem nodded, shooting a glance to his father who bowed his head gratefully, “you _have_ to go to uni.”

Bailey rested his chin on his hand and smiled at Izumi.  “It won’t be so bad.”

“How would you know?” Izumi sniffed even as she fought a smile in his direction, “ _You_ never went.  Neither did Katsu or Michi.  And Salem didn’t even finish.”

He shrugged, “And we have no job security.”

Salem made a face while Izumi shook her head, skeptical.  “I own a company!”

“You never know,” Michi nodded, “you could get taken over and ousted.”

“I’m not ousting your mother,” Salem told Michi pointedly, but he only smirked and shrugged. Salem sighed, “I’d need either a board or to be a publicly traded company for either of those things to happen.”

“You’ll go public eventually,” Ryu told his son.

Salem grimaced, “No.”

“Every major company does.”

Salem scowled and shook his head. He huffed as his eyes went around the table.  “Last time I eat a family dinner with any of you.  I get suckered into crazy shit when I eat with all of you lot, I swear.” He turned and pointed at Izumi, “Just so you know, there will be rules.  I’m not dealing with crazy little sister on top of all the other crazy I have to deal with on a daily basis.  Nope.”

Bailey bit back a laugh while Izumi ignored her brother; too busy typing away on social media to bother paying him any attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't tell Ashley, but I actually did share a Coke with her horse, Wasabi, when I used to ride him. I sipped from the bottle. He sipped from my hand. Heather's horse Rain used like Propel O.O
> 
> Michi is very much the 'I'll fuck everyone since I can't fuck you' type, but now he's dating his j-pop bandmate. I'll admit my knowledge of Asian pop bands is limited but it is there. I used to read the blog of my media production classmate last year. She was a fan of j-pop and k-pop and wrote whole long winded articles on them. And, ok, I didn't read them. I skimmed. And looked the pictures.
> 
> Hikari's terrifying. And a badass businesswoman. And terrifying, did I mention that? Izumi was fun to write, especially when put up next to her mother and father. Ryu's the strong, silent type and Hikari's...overbearing. It's a miracle Michi and Izumi are the way the are. His Japanese family is almost as fun as his Russian one.
> 
> Gaijin is not technically an insult but if you read between the lines it should be insulting. Or so I'm told. I don't live in Japan obviously, and the technical definition is 'a foreigner' but the kanji is 'outside person'. Dude, it's not the best thing to be called when you're chilling with your boyfriend's family who he's super close to.
> 
> The honorifics took a shit ton of research and I'm still not sure I got them right. So they will never be used again. Yeah, too much. I can't deal with it. However, when she calls Salem 'Daiki-kun' she chastises him by calling him an immature child essentially.
> 
> Surprise, you didn't expect this chapter, and I wasn't planning on giving it to you today, but my professor volunteered me to have my short story workshopped in class, and I'm about to finish the last chapter of the story so I figured treat yo self. So I'm treating you and eating leftover Chinese food.


	51. "The Night Is Still Young" by Nicki Minaj

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bailey loses his shit with the press. Salem and Bailey try that communication thing

**Kimura Izumi (@Izumiii3)**

Thanks to @ArthurBailey I’m going to London!!!!!!

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

@Izumiii3 excuse me very much?

 

**Kimura Izumi (@Izumiii1)**

@Salem_Daiki if he hadn’t told you to, you wouldn’t have let me come :P

 

**Text message to Salem**

**Kanani:** Is Georgia bisexual?

**Salem:** …nooooo she’s definitely boy crazy. Why?

**Kanani:** Saw her and this gorgeous woman having drinks in this pub by your office.

**Salem:** Fucking hell when? She’s supposed to be working!

**Kanani:** Yooooo it was LUNCHTIME!

**Salem:** This is Georgia we’re talking about.

**Kanani:** -.- rude

 

**Arsenal’s Arthur Bailey hooking up with j-pop beauty?**

Arsenal forward Arthur Bailey has spent the last six weeks in Tokyo, Japan to finish out the remainder of his recovery exploring a new country. He’s been seen everywhere from Kyoto to Hiroshima to Osaka with everyone from JFL midfielder, Akira Hisakawa, to j-pop boyband, Bimyou, to his close friend, Konstantin Kimura-Petrov. After being spotted three nights in a row with Kimura-Petrov at Bimyou’s Tokyo concerts, Bailey’s been pictured getting cozy in ageHa nightclub with Keiko Hamasaki, a member of a j-pop girlband and Bimyou’s opening act. It’s been ages since we’ve seen the young footballer with anyone other than his ex-girlfriend, model Kanani Kapuana, who he claims is ‘just a very good friend.’ Is this a potential girlfriend or just a hook-up between two young celebrities?

**Comment from ArthurBailey**

I try hard to stay away from my own press but I couldn’t help myself. First, Japanese names are surname first followed by first name. Hisakawa Akira and Hamasaki Keiko.  Second, I wasn’t ‘getting cozy’ with anyone in ageHa.  There’s 5000 people in that club nightly. We were having a conversation. I was that close to Michi, Katsu, and Salem multiple times during the night. Third, don’t make it sound worse than what it is, Kanani and I are good friends. She’s got a girlfriend and doesn’t even hide it. Fourth, Keiko and I didn’t have sex; she’s really cautious about who she gets involved with (not me).

 

**Text message to Salem**

**Harry:** Your boyfriend. Sigh. Oh my god.

 

**Text message to Salem**

**Irial:** Hahahahaha omg your boyfriend XD

 

**Text message to Bailey**

**Caroline:** omfg really????

* * *

“So, how angry is Caroline for that glorious, glorious stunt you pulled the other day?” Salem asked as he leaned against the bridge railing beside Bailey, his bleached bangs falling into his jade green eyes as he tilted his face up towards the sun.

“Pissed,” Bailey answered truthfully.  “Apparently my comment made national news in the UK.  Irial talked about me on BBC Radio 1.  It’s a bit ridiculous, really.”

Salem hummed thoughtfully, and Bailey huffed, resting his forehead on Salem’s shoulder, relaxing further when Salem shifted to wrap an arm around his waist and pull them tightly together.

“Keiko’s sweet. She’s also sixteen, and it’s disgusting the way people talk about celebrities in the press.  She doesn’t deserve that.”

“You had a ten minute conversation with her,” Salem muttered lowly but not reproachfully.

Bailey smiled slightly and nodded, “Yeah, but it was an excellent conversation.”

Scoffing, Salem smirked, “Should I be worried?”

“Absolutely, talking about the price of fame with a sixteen year old girl who still lives with her parents most of the year in _Nagasaki_ had made my whole sexuality flip-flop. I’ve even decided to quit being a footballer to be a roadie when her band tours.  The things love does to a man,” Bailey joked.

Salem grinned, “Stranger things have happened.”

Bailey’s eyes drifted across the white cherry blossom trees and the water, watching the skyscrapers rise in the distance.  Not so different from Hyde Park, in the middle of a busy, urban city, an oasis of calm. He liked Yoyogi Park, only a short walk both from Harajuku Station and from Michi’s apartment; he’d handed over the Katsu’s keys to the flat with a wide smile to Bailey since he knew how much Bailey preferred wandering Tokyo most days, giving him a nice base and a place to relax if he needed it as the Kimura’s house was almost an hour away by train.  Bailey had taken advantage of the unexpected gift and spent most days flitting in an out of the apartment as he toured and shopped.

It wasn’t unusual to find Bailey sitting by the water with a green tea and sushi or looking out over the park by the bridge at lunchtimes.  And it didn’t surprise him at all that Salem had managed to find him there, as, no doubt, regardless of Bailey’s routines, Salem had hacked his mobile to track down his exact location.  Bailey didn’t _mind_ , but it was still creepy.

“I’m hungry,” Bailey told Salem.

Wordlessly, Salem pulled away from Bailey and laced their fingers together in what was an altogether startling action even now as he lead them down the pathway back towards the station.

Japan was a world away from London, and while Bailey had gotten papped since arriving, it had only been at specific events where paps were already around or picked up off social media by people who knew who he was.  Salem and Bailey had never done public displays of affection in London, not really; they’d never wanted to and were both entirely too cautious to start something they might grow to crave.

The first time Salem had held his hand in public had been an accident and a shock to both of them. They’d been walking through Shibuya for the first time and heading for Michi’s apartment surrounded by people, and the fifth time Bailey almost got swept away, he’d reached out to grab the back of Salem’s shirt, and Salem had grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together and leading him through the maze of people and streets, not releasing his hand until they’d stepped wide-eyed in the elevator of Michi’s building.

Since then, it had become as commonplace as their kisses had become.  They’d never be Irial and Cris, who’d have sex in the middle of a restaurant if they thought they could get away with it, but their distance between them and London had loosened both of them up enough where public pecks on the lips and the occasional tender but intimate touches had started to creep naturally into the way they interacted with each other.

No one in Tokyo batted an eyelash.

And none of the paps in Tokyo gave two shits about a footballer who played in the UK.

Salem stopped at Kyushujangara Harajukuten, the kitchsy ramen noodle shop just down the road from the park.  The place seemed a mess of color on the outside, but the inside was all warm dark wood, quiet intimate lighting, and a lot of interesting decorations hanging on the walls.

With a quick smile at the host and some jumbled Japanese, Salem procured an English menu for Bailey as they sat down.

“We come here too often,” Bailey remarked offhandedly.

“You can have ramen too often?” Salem returned with a cheeky grin.

“Why do we look at the menu? You’re going to get Kobonshan because it tastes like garlic and you’ve already tried everything else on the menu, and I’m going to get Kyushu jangara because it’s healthy—”

“Because it has vegetables, chicken, and pork so you don’t have to make a decision,” Salem corrected.

“Is there a point?”

Salem laughed but shook his head, turning to the waiter who’d barely made it passed their table before Salem was ordering for them.  He’d told Bailey once before that his Russian was better than his Japanese, but Bailey doubted it really mattered.  Salem was as fluent in Russian as he was in English at the very least, and his Japanese was at worst conversational and at best exemplary.  When he’d told Salem that, he’d scowled and shook his head, but Bailey didn’t think it mattered.  The closest he got to a second language was his very basic knowledge of French he’d been forcefed—and thereby rejected—in primary school and what little Spanish he’d picked up coaching in Argentina.

When they’d gotten their waters, Salem leaned back and looked at Bailey silently over the table before asking, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“When I was hooking up with Cris we were both really young,” Bailey told Salem reluctantly, making a face. “He dated a couple of people that I knew of, mostly girls, I think, because it was just easier, but everyone was talking about him in the press.  About how much of a slag he was, and how he was shagging all of these girls that I knew for a fact he’d only ever had minimal conversation with. He told me that it didn’t upset him, but I could tell that it did.  And why wouldn’t it?  He got famous when he was fifteen, maybe sixteen, same as me really.  He had three girlfriends in that time, Beatrice, you know, was a right twat. And it only got worse than that, but I can’t really deal with press slut shaming, because by all accounts, I’m a bit of a slag, but they made me that way because I couldn’t have a relationship that mattered.  And in anycase, it’s never okay to about teenagers with inneuendo like that. I’m five years older than her. She’s a child. And they shouldn’t imply things like that.”

Salem arched an eyebrow and nodded, “You’re really on about this one, aren’t you?”

Bailey huffed out a breath of irritation.  “I didn’t get that, really, from the press because of Kanani.  We met when I was seventeen.  I’d given this bloke at a party a blowjob and freaked because I thought he’d recognized me.  I tore out of there and found Kanani on the porch making out with this chav girl on the front porch who was completely shitfaced.  I _did_ recognize her, and she recognized me.  She just stood there and then said, ‘It’s not what it looks like. I like men.’  And I just started laughing and said, ‘Yeah me too.’ Kanani wasn’t ready, and I saw Cris and didn’t want that to be me.  So we pretended, and it went really well, but I wasn’t Salem. I didn’t care who touched me because I couldn’t really afford to.  I don’t like implications like that.  It makes me really uncomfortable.”

“Evidently,” Salem nodded, thanking the man who dropped their bowls on the table before turning back to Bailey.  “It alright, you know…not your rant in the comments section that I absolutely would have gone in and deleted if I’d known it had been happening, but that you feel uncomfortable with that.”

Bailey half-smiled uncertainly, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Salem promised, spooning out some of the broth and blowing on it.  “The only reason I wasn’t an absolute manwhore in high school was because I respected my mother too much to do that in her house, and I’m glad because after I went through in high school with my boyfriend if sex had been part of the equation it would have been infinitely worse.”

Pausing with his spoon halfway to his mother, Bailey tilted his head and frowned at Salem. He didn’t want to push, but he was certainly curious.  With most things, Salem was an open book, and while he certainly wasn’t secretive, he had a clear reluctance to talk about his high school dating years.  His brief but intense relationship with Charlie he had no problem clarifying, but anytime they even ventured into high school, Salem tensed.

Salem ran a hand through his hair and leaned back in his seat to study Bailey silently. He sighed and shook his head. “You must know who I dated in high school; I’m sure someone’s told you by now.”

“Georgia,” Bailey nodded.

Salem huffed. “We were childhood friends. Of course, she was George Elias Hanson back then, but we were…intense.  Not in a good way.  Not in the way Charlie and I were.  Charlie and I were friends first.  Don’t get me wrong, when we were together we had entirely too much sex too often and couldn’t keep it together very well in public—”

“He still can’t,” Bailey interrupted, shaking his head and scoffing.  “Charlie might as well be out.  He got papped kissing Irial.  He’s not exactly subtle.”

“Yeah,” Salem nodded with a genuine grin splitting across his face, “but he’s young, sexy, and talented. He’s pictured with enough pretty girls that public’s willing to buy that he’s just a touchy drunk. It’s not that hard to sell people things that they want to hear.  Sure some people will see through the ruse, but not enough for it to matter.” Salem shrugged easily, his smile fading as he looked at Bailey.  “We started dating officially freshmen year, and it took people by surprise. Georgia was…not who she is now. She was popular, athletic, and very stylish for our high school crowd.  I was bookish, always playing around with electronics, and leaving school at the drop of a hat to jet off to the far reaches of the country.

“I was in sophomore year when I first found out she was cheating me, but she’d been doing it a lot longer than that.”  Bailey winced as Salem smiled bitterly, shrugging.  “Georgia didn’t want to be gay so she hooked up with girls and boys because just because she couldn’t be gay didn’t mean she didn’t need cock. We weren’t sleeping together, and I’d told her from day one that I’d made a promise to my mother, and the woman’s so scary it didn’t even strike me to think it was was weird that she agreed.”

“It’s not _weird_ that you thought your boyfriend was respecting your boundaries,” Bailey defended.

Salem huffed out a laugh, “We were horny teenagers.  It was weird, but maybe not so much, I mean, she was sleeping with everyone else.”

“And you stayed with her?” Bailey asked, appalled. Salem didn’t seem like that kind of person, the kind of person who stayed with someone who’d spent two years on cheating on him and denying their own sexuality.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Salem pursed his lips.  “I wasn’t…the same back then, and Georgia…I thought I loved her.  Well, I _did_ love her.  I brought it up.  I confronted her about it, and she cried, said she was sorry and confused and she wouldn’t do it again.  But she did, and I wanted things to work.  I didn’t find out again until senior year, at least.  That was when we went to prom, and I thought maybe if we had sex then she wouldn’t need to go out and cheat on me.  So we did. Once.  I wouldn’t again because of the promise I’d already broken to my mother, but it didn’t mattered because right after graduation she started her hormones and told me she’d never felt like a man and was transitioning. So while I’d thought my boyfriend was a confused bisexual, she was actually a sexually confused transsexual who’d never just told me that.  And now I have major issues.”

Bailey blinked at Salem as he spooned some of the noddles into his mouth.  That had been an entirely unexpected explanation. He’d assumed that something like that had happened, but hearing it in its entirety shocked him more than he’d like to admit.  Bailey’s own history would make more than a few people raise their eyebrows, but nothing quite that outrageous.  The closest Bailey had come to that kind of pain had been when he’d been sleeping with Bailey in early 2014 when he’d been sixteen and on the rise up until Bailey had called him to break off their sexual relationship because he’d met the man he was going to marry. Bailey had laughed but agreed, and five years later Cris had married the man.

Bailey couldn’t imagine that kind of drama and heartbreak didn’t dare imagine what it would feel like if Salem did that to him.

“Chaz was the first intimate relationship based primarily in sex that I ever had. We were both eighteen. He was filming his first major blockbuster as an adult, and I was a freshman at MIT.”

“Was he a rebound?”

“Not exactly,” Salem confessed with a slight smile.  “I did love him. We weren’t _in love_ but we were passionate about the same things and…sexually compatible.”  He said haltingly.  Bailey bit back a laugh at the discomfort on his boyfriend’s face. “We were much better off as friends. Two years later he was snogging Irial Grayson…Dorian?”  Salem waved it off while Bailey grinned, “And he was calling me from London frantic. I laughed and hung up on him.”

“He’s your best friend,” Bailey said.

“Yes.”

Bailey smiled before shaking his head frowning at Salem with the slightest hint of confusion. “Why did you tell me this?”

Salem tilted his head and studied Bailey for a moment.  “Because you never ask.  You always seem like you want to, but you don’t.  Just because it bothers me doesn’t mean that I don’t want you to know, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t ask. Charlie thinks we’re bad at communication, and we are.  Chaz knows partly because we’ve known each other for five years and partly because he’s brazen with questions.  It’s infuriating.” Bailey laughed in understanding while Salem just grinned the fondly bemused smile he often wore while talking about his best friend.  “And I guess,” Salem started haltingly, reaching across the table to hold intertwine their fingers together, “to say you’re not alone.  We all have things that we just can’t deal with, which is no excuse for going on a public tantrum with a tabloid, but I understand.”

“You literally avoid a whole sexuality,” Bailey pointed out wryly, teasingly.

“You’ve been spending way too much time with Charlie.”

Bailey giggled while Salem watched him across the table, a soft look on his face.  He stopped giggling and frowned at Salem. “What?”

“ _Aishiteiru,_ ” Salem told Bailey with a seriousness that made Bailey frown.

One of the waitors and at least five people around them glanced over at Salem with startled expressions that only made Bailey’s confusion more prominent.  Salem smiled affectionately at him and shook his head.

“It’s not the same in Japanese,” Salem told Bailey quietly, leaning forward across the table and squeezing his hand comfortingly.  “They rarely tell their partners that they love them and, in any case, have several different words for it.”

Bailey smiled slowly, hesitantly.  “What did you just say to me, Salem?”

A coy but warm look flitted across his face before it shuttered again, forcefully.  He shrugged dismissively at juxtaposition with the earnest, loving look in the depths of his jade green gaze.  Salem pressed a kiss to the back of Bailey’s hand as he drawled sincerely, “The truth.”

_I don’t want to go home_ , Bailey thought suddenly, but it rang true.  He wanted to play football, but he didn’t want to leave the bubble of warmth and contentment that they’d create here.  The privacy he’d found.  The friendships he’d made.  Bailey wanted to go back to playing, but no, he didn’t want to go home, back to London and all its complications.

“We should buy a house here,” Bailey blurted instead.

Salem didn’t seem appalled by this or the slightest bit taken aback, which Bailey took as a good sign. He raised his eyebrows and maneuvered his chopsticks expertly to nibble on his ramen.  He hummed, “Yeah?”

“Yes. Far enough out of the city for us to not have to deal with the constant lights and noise, but close enough that we can see your family and Michi when we want.”

“You’re serious about this,” Salem said more to himself than to Bailey.  In either case, Bailey’s eyebrows rose.

“In Minato, I think. One of the district in Azabu.”

Salem snorted and rolled his eyes, “You’re so posh.”  Bailey glared at him while Salem just huffed and nodded his head thoughtfully. “I’ll call Aiko-san, the realtor we used to help find a store front in Shibuya.”

Even though Bailey knew Salem would have agreed simply because he’d asked, Salem couldn’t help but smile, lifting another spoonful of broth to his lips to hide it. Salem surely caught on, but he chose not to say anything, his thumb rubbing back and forth over the back of Bailey’s hand as he typed out a text message just to make Bailey happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ramen noodle shop and what it serves/looks like are all true so is the location. Their menu was in Japanese and the translation might as well have been. So if you go to Japan and try this place...don't blame me if I was wrong.
> 
> Studying Japanese culture is hard, it's a lot of 'this is how it is unless x, y, z'. What I got was that current tradition that is slowly changing that love means a lot more in Japanese than in English in terms of saying it at the very least. It's rarely expressed, and in any case there are three-isa (maybe more?) terms for love one that's for hobbies, food, animals that you like/enjoy. One for friends and family(?) that is also more like like or alternatively for developing relationships that mean you could grow to love them that's popular with young people (or both?) And the one Salem said that's still rarely used.
> 
> Azabu is according to my research super posh and therefore right up Bailey's alley.


	52. "Sparks" by Hilary Duff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are fighting...at a summer party...because they still can't communicate properly

**Arsenal’s Arthur Bailey buys Japanese flat**

Arsenal’s Arthur Bailey seems to have found Tokyo favorable as he recently purchased an eight hundred thousand pound flat in Tokyo’s Minato district. The two floor, two bedroom flat in the luxurious Abazu-juben district of Minato was reportedly one of the first Bailey looked at with close friend, Konstantin Kimura-Petrov, who recently bought retail space on behalf of his company in the popular Shibuya district of the city. When asked if he had any intention to stay in Japan, his agent commented, “No, Bailey had no intention of moving to Tokyo. He loves the city and finds it peaceful, but he’s very much devoted to Arsenal and that means London for now.” On the rumors that Bailey had bought the apartment with Kimura-Petrov, Bailey’s agent confirmed, “Bailey didn’t feel like he would use it often enough not to buy with [Kimura-Petrov] as Bailey rarely has time for extended vacations to Japan whereas [Kimura-Petrov] will be making frequent trips and has family in the area.”

 

**Kimura Izumi (@Izumiii3)**

I’m here!!!!!!! #london #england #uk #imsoexcited

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

Barely even out of the airport and it started raining #hellolondon #londonweather

 

To: salem.petrov@daiki.co.uk

Cc: bridget.cooley@daiki.co.uk; nihal.farswhal@daiki.co.uk

From: nicola.james@daiki.co.uk

Subject: End of summer party

Mr. Petrov

Everything’s planned. We’ve got the whole thing ready and together. It’s planned for August 16th the Friday at Somerset House right on the Thames.

Nicola James

Event Planner, The Daiki Company

 

**Arthur Bailey returns!**

After a devasting season ending injury, Arthur Bailey returns to Arsenal’s line up only six months after tearing his ACL in a February game against Watford FC. Not only did he play in Arsenal’s opening game against Tottenham Hotspur, but he scored both of Arsenal’s twin goals, played the entirety of the game, and seemed even stronger than last season despite doubts over his erratic physical therapy that took place both in South Dakota, USA and Tokyo, Japan as he traveled.  In spite of the scandals and inneunedo being tossed around in the media, Bailey says he’s ready for the season.  Stating during a press conference, “Last season was tough. I lost my mother. I tore my ACL. I wasn’t ready for all the changes going on in my life, but I’ve worked through it, gotten myself to where I need to be physically and mentally, and worked with a lot of different people to prepare me for the year. I’ve changed and so has the way I play, and I’m excited to get out there this year and see what I can do for the team.”

 

**Georgia Hanson (@ChangedGeorgia)**

Party time!!!!! #letsgetthedrinksflowing #excited

* * *

Izumi stood by the banquet table with a glass of champagne dangling from her fingertips. She looked every inch the up-and-coming computer science major with her valiant attempt at dressing up being finalized in a loose shirtdress, black tights, and platform boots. In short, she looked very stereotypically smart and Asian, which brought a smile to Salem’s face even as she spurned the stuttered attempt at flirting from one of their interns to text her classmates as discreetly as she possibly could, which wasn’t discreet at all.

The company summer party had been Nihal’s brainchild, primarily to say goodbye to Dane and Regulus, both of whom would be flying over to America in a number of days to oversee growth and development in North America.  Also, Salem suspected, in part of a relief that Nihal and Harley didn’t have to make the move to Tokyo since their recent acquisition and Salem’s stepmother would be overseeing their growing Asian market.  Salem would never say no to a party, especially not one that actually had all the different facets of the company together for more than the twenty minutes they spent socializing over waiting for coffee to brew in one of the many break rooms.

Nicola had taken care of the whole planning, renting out space on the Thames at Somerset House. The whole courtyard had been transformed into something out of a very colorful dream with banquet tables on either side of the room, dessert stations, and even a fondue fountain. Round tables that almost no one sat at for longer than it took to discard their belongings and occasionally plates of food for laters were decked out in white fabric and covered with frosted glass, a magnificent centerpiece of submerged white orchids, a candle floating on top, in the center of each table.

They’d forgone a dancefloor to replace it with plexiglass, changing color floor space that light the whole courtyard, and decorated with a number of sofas, loveseats, chaises, and ottomans. It had done exactly what Salem had wanted it to do.  People were mingling. People were sharing. These weren’t a bunch of young, horny, party-hard university students out to get drunk; he’d hoped they were beyond getting blackout drunk and hooking up with the first person who caught there eye.

Salem wanted his employees to meet each other, to talk, to share ideas and experiences and information. He wanted his company to be close-knit. A community.  What better way than free food, free booze, good music, and spectacular scenery?

“So, you’re…uh…in university then?”

“Yes,” Izumi answered without paying the slightest bit of attention to the intern.

“What year are you then?”

“First year at King’s studying computer science with robotics.”

The intern’s mouth dropped open, and Izumi finally looked up from her phone, eyebrows raised. He cleared his throat, shocked, “You’re a _first year_.  And you’re _working here_?”

“I’m _interning_ here,” Izumi corrected patiently.  “‘Working’ implies I’m being paid.  I’m not. I’m interning with Daiki.”

He sputtered, and Izumi quirked an eyebrow while Salem looked on with amusement.  “Daiki as in the CEO and creator of the company? Daiki as in the man who singlehandedly ushered in a technological revolution that tech companies will be struggling to make pace with for the decade?”

Shaking his head, Salem inserted himself smoothly into the conversation, plucking a cheese cube off his sister’s plate and smiling impishly at the wide-eyed intern. “I wouldn’t say singlehandedly. I _singlehandedly_ invented the technology, but, really, this company would have flopped ages ago with my partners.” While he gaped and shook, trying to figue out what to say and how to play this meeting he clearly hadn’t been prepared for, Salem held out a hand.  “Hi, I’m Salem.”

“I…yeah…I…”

Izumi rolled her eyes, “He is John Seelin.  Intern. He is studying engineering and mathematics at UEL.  Right?” John just stared at her, mouth open, and Izumi nodded primely looking entirely too much like her mother as she turned back to Salem, “Right.  Where is your partner?”

“You know, Izumi, we can exist separately.  Without each other. That’s a thing.”

Izumi snorted and turned to him, completely dismissing the intern who, for the first time that night, seemed grateful for the inattention and scurried off as quickly as he possibly could.  “I know _you_ think that, but I am not sure it is entirely accurate, especially considering how often the pair of you go at it.  I think it is likely you would go into withdrawal.”

“I think you never should have joined your course’s Facebook group and met up with people who’d teach you cheeky shit like that.  I need alcohol if we’re going to have that conversation.”

“Okay,” Izumi shrugged, “then let us talk about Georgia.  I met her. Michi and Tasha told me about her.”

Salem followed his sister’s gaze across the room to where they rested on the bombshell blonde in a lacy Guess cocktail dress and Alexander McQueen pumps she absolutely could not afford.  Granted, there’d been no further issue with her asking for a raise, but her spending habits hadn’t seemed to change.  It worried Salem more than he’d like to admit, but he shook it off to watch with narrowed eyes and pursed lips as she ran a red lacquered nail up the chest of one of Dane’s favorite marketing guys, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder as she laughed sensually.

Ridiculous.

Bailey appeared in front of him with Rosie Ireland in an adorable white mini dress that offset wonderfully against her long, wavy ginger locks, a champagne flute in his hand. Salem crooked an eyebrow and plucked it out of his hand.  Bailey scoffed, and Salem smirked at the taste of sparkling cider he’d undoubtedly had to bribe the bartender to crack open, but it figured, Bailey had a game tomorrow and the amount of starch and sugar he’d no doubt consume over the course of the night was enough breaking of his diet.

Izumi’s eyes darted between the pair of them, and she crossed her arms over her chest and sighed at them, disapproval evident in every line of her body.  “Are you two still fighting?”

“Depends,” Salem remarked frostily, glaring at Bailey, “on if Bailey’s still being an idiot.” Bailey raised his eyebrows at Salem who decided to forgo any and all attempts at subtlety. “Izumi does not need a car.”

“London’s not exactly the place to get around by foot,” Bailey argued.

Rosie pursed her lips, hesitated, and shook her head slightly, peering around for help. She’d come with Bailey on Harry’s orders when he’d sent Salem a message about buying an apartment with him by his family in Japan that simply said: ‘Why don’t you just pull a Charlie and kiss him in front of a camera. It’d be less obvious.’  And, okay, Harry might have had a point.

“Neither was Tokyo, and she managed fine without a car there,” Salem pointed out furiously. Bailey raised his eyebrows, unimpressed. “ _I_ get around just fine without a car.”

“You’ve practically stolen mine!” Bailey argued.

“And her uni’s not thirty minutes away by train!”

“In _Central London_ from fucking Hampstead!  I let you get away with it because if you’re late for work because of traffic or a signal malfunction or some nutter jumping onto the tracks during rush hour, no one’s going to stir shit up about it.  Izumi is not _you_.  She’s answerable to someone.  She should have a car!”

“Fucking hell, why are you being such a tit about this?”  Salem demanded.

Bailey ground his teeth together and glowered at Salem.

“Oh,” Irial drawled as he sidled up to Rosie’s side, Cris’s hand clasped in his as they both made their way over, “I feel like we’ve interrupted something.  Shall we go away?  Come back? Try again?”

“Irial,” Bailey and Salem said simultaneously in greeting.

Izumi dropped her glass, not even wincing when it shattered because she was too busy staring wide-eyed and gaping at Cris Emerson, half-hidden behind his husband and cheerfully nursing what looked like a rum and coke.  Irial quirked an eyebrow at her while Cris half-smiled awkwardly and gave her a wave.

Bailey stifled laughter, which was considerably kinder of a reaction than Salem staring at his half-sister in utter disbelief.  She had a brother who was both a popstar and surrounded almost daily with ridiculously handsome boybanders easily accessible to her, and Salem had never seen her once bat an eyelash at any of them…then again years of her brother’s tragic pining over his bandmate might have nipped any feelings she might have had well in the bud.

Apparently, all it took to knock off Izumi’s longstanding confidence and render her speechless and starstruck was to parade around Cris Emerson in the most absolutely blasé fashion humanly possible.

“Who are you then?” Irial asked.  Cris looked down at him with fond disapproval, and Irial rolled his eyes and wrapped an arm around his husband’s waist in a wordless acknowledgement of the reproach.

Salem glanced at Bailey and found him already looking back, stricken and uncomfortable.

And, really, maybe _that’s_ what this whole argument over whether or not to get Izumi a car had come from.  She hadn’t even started university yet, not even the international student orientation, and they devolved into bickering every time she left the house to meet the coursemates she’d been introduced to online about whether or not she should have a car. Salem didn’t think she needed one, especially one that Bailey would somehow manage to pay for when Salem pulled an all-nighter yelling at the research and development kiddies in the labs and that Salem would acquire if she went back to Tokyo.

After spending months being as outwardly affectionate as they wanted, it took effort and a great deal of restraint both physically and emotionally to tamp down on motions that had become second nature and free flowing.  Maybe they were both feeling the effects of it more than they’d let on.

Salem smiled slightly at Bailey, apologetically, and Bailey’s tension eased as he offered a tiny smile back.

“My protégé and younger sister, Kimura Izumi,” Salem introduced her.  “Izumi, this is Irial Grayson—occasionally Dorian depending on who you’re talking to—he works for Radio 1, his husband Cris Emerson who, for my peace of mind, I’ll pretend you don’t know.  And Irial’s best friend, songwriter, and press release script-writing, Rosie Ireland.”

Izumi finger waved at them shyly.

“Big fan then, I take it,” Irial started with a sly smirk on his face.  He rocked into Cris as he said with feigned excitement, “Look, Cris, someone’s actually a fan of yours.”

“Everyone’s a fan of his,” Bailey said.

Cris blushed even as he shook his head, “Not possible, mate.  If that was true I wouldn’t be living off of Iri and busking in underground stations as a struggling musician.”

“When have you _ever_ been a struggling musician?” Salem burst out while Bailey blinked at him stupidly.  Irial simply seemed hopelessly endeared by his husband, and Izumi lightened up just enough to giggle behind her glass.  Cris winked at her. “I feel like just for that I should tell our DJ to just play your solo album on loop all night long.”

“Please God no!” Cris blurted out, appalled.  Irial laughed and nodded his head.

“It’s so alternative and indie. I can’t even.”

“So party buzzkill then,” Rosie nodded and raised her glass.

Cris scoffed, “Like you didn’t listen to it.  Harry told me that you’ve had it on repeat since it came out.”

“It’s my cleaning jam,” Rosie defended valiantly.  “And I illegally downloaded it so it’s okay.”

“Me too,” Irial laughed.

“Where _is_ my favorite fixer this evening?”  Salem inquired.

Irial and Rosie exchanged a loaded look that seemed to make even Cris confused.  Irial noticed and stroked a hand over his side soothingly while Rosie chose to answer the question in a bland tone.  “He got a job.”  Bailey and Salem shared a look before turning back to Rosie expectantly, unsatisfied with the bullshit answer she’d tried to force on them.  Rosie sighed and finished off her wine, handing the glass to Cris who took it, bemused.  “Maverick’s manager’s hired him to…handle him.  Harry thought he needed some…time away, a bit of a sojourn or…more like a retreat I suppose.  They’ve gone away for a while.”

Bailey snorted while Cris nodded like this somehow made sense, but it was Izumi who added, “So he is detoxing Maverick, right?”  All eyes turned to Izumi who shrank back under the attention before pushing passed it. “I am from Japan not Mars. Maverick is too eccentric to have come by all of that naturally.”

Salem had never looked into it.

Maverick had been sweet enough when they’d met at the store opening, but, yes, Salem had noticed he was a bit eccentric, always in motion, and every move a calculated routine up until Alina had had her hands running through his hair and soothing him into a state of borderline hibernation like he was an animal.  It wouldn’t surprise Salem if Maverick had a drug problem between his rockstar demigod state of being, part-time movie star schtick, and the rumors of reality television on the horizon.

There was nothing the world loved better than someone falling apart before their eyes.

Rosie half-shrugged, not quite answering but not denying either.  “All I know is he showed up at our offices high as a kite a few weeks ago with his manager, and within the hour Harry had cleared his schedule and dragged him up to Yasmin from Azadi’s chalet in the French Alps. Miles away from civilization and complete with a sauna.”

Salem made a face while Bailey nodded sagely.  So, yes, detoxing then.

“And you lot bought a house in Japan,” Cris interrupted, breaking through the awkwardness flawlessly. His eyes went to Bailey and softened. “I’m happy for you, Bailey, even if I did spend an evening listening to Harry rant about how frustrating the pair of you were instead of getting sexed.”

Irial made a face and turned to Cris, “That’s it.  No more spending time with Dominic.  I’m absolutely putting my foot down.  ‘Getting sexed.’”

Bailey smiled at Cris, “Thanks mate.”

Salem rolled his eyes at their sappiness and met Irial’s gaze.  “Yeah, which, turns out, is probably for the best.  I have to run over there with Harley while she goes over the books, and then I’m rendezvous-ing with Nihal, Dane, and Reg in California to do some promotional and expansion work out there.  And I have a meeting with Google.  That’s all in the next two weeks.”

Bailey and Izumi glanced at each other slyly.

Pointing between the pair of them, Salem told them firmly, “There will be no major purchases in that time, and I’ll fucking know.  It’s bad enough you convinced me that we should pay for her uni tuition.”

“Technically Michi helped,” Bailey added with a smirk.

“Technically, I’m going to kill you,” Salem responded lightly.

Momentarily forgetting himself, Bailey bridged the gap between them to press a lingering kiss to Salem’s lips until Rosie cleared her throat pointedly.  They tensed, froze, and stepped back awkwardly while Cris and Irial looked at them with knowing, empathetic expressions.

“I swear, the pair of you are going to get me murdered,” Rosie told them, pausing to slant a sideways look at Irial.  “This feels an awful lot like déjà vu.”

“I wonder why,” Irial snarked back.

Cris laughed and pressed a kiss to Irial’s temple, and Salem smiled and shook his head at the pair of them, his eyes locking on Georgia just behind them for a moment, standing and watching with her phone clutched in one hand, her wine in another, and a pinched expression on her face.  She turned away, and Salem let it go, slinging an arm around his sister’s shoulders and forcing a smile, unable to shake the growing disquiet that left him feeling so completely unsettled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll just leave this here because shit goes down next chapter.


	53. "Half Of Me" by Rihanna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> !

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

Omfg another 11hr flight back to Japan #sotired #ijustwannagotobed

 

**Tasha Petrovna (@Mama_Petrovna)**

@Salem_Daiki you’re the one who chose to own multimillion dollar company #getoverit

 

**Text message to Bailey**

**Salem:** I do actually look at my sister’s Instagram account.

 **Bailey:** Lol u want 2 tlk abt this now?

 **Salem:** No job. No money. How does she afford being a partygirl?

 **Bailey:** O.O waaaaaat?

 **Salem:** This is why we’re not having kids.

 **Bailey:** Yes cuz I wnt 2 tlk 2 u. U wnt 2 tlk abt ur sis -.-

 **Salem:** I’m walking home from the office. We can Skype in like 5min.

 **Bailey:** U mn i can wtch u stick a dildo in ur arse while i wank? Or u can bitch abt Izumi more?

 **Salem:** Well now we can talk about devious maids :P

 **Bailey:** :/

 

**Kimura Izumi (@Izumiii3)**

@Salem_Daiki I know your sexile is why I’ve been put on lockdown -.-

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

@Izumiii3 it’s working! That’s good. I feel my pov has been listened to and appreciated.

 

**Text message to Salem**

**Bailey:** Does that mean I’m done being sexiled?

 **Salem:** Me not helping you get off is not sexiling

 **Salem:** I got off.

 **Bailey:** You’re evil.

 **Salem:** And you’re frustrated, aren’t you?

 **Bailey:** Salem! Ffs!

 **Salem:** My plane to SF leaves in 1hr.

 **Bailey:** Call me?

 **Salem:** ;D

 

To: thatgeorgiapeach@gmail.com

From: margaretleona.gallagher@gmail.co.uk

Subject: RE: Evidence

Georgia,

I’ve sent all those photos and the article to my editor, and it’ll be going into print at the beginning of the week just after the Aston Villa game. The money will be wired into your account as promised.

Margaret L. Gallagher

Journalist, The Sun

* * *

In movies when someone’s whole world imploded, the skies opened with a deafening crack of thunder as rain and hail the size of matzoh balls poured from above and pelted at the unsuspecting civilians on the ground.  Oppressive clouds of dark gray created a depressing atmosphere that completely meshed with both the tidal wave of emotion rushing over the protagonist and the melancholy mood he or she was in.

Real life, it seemed, wasn’t like that.

Bailey’s day had been what he’d started to categorize as he typical strand of fantastic, as much as it could be with Salem still on his two-week business trip across Japan and the US.

He’d gotten up early when Salem had called him from Chicago to wake him for his morning run the way he had every morning since he’d left for Japan. A quick session of Skype sex, a protein shake, and a run had him back at home making eggs, bacon, and tea as Izumi made her way down the stairs in a fluffy dressing gown and her hair piled on top of her head as she blinked up at him through bleary eyes and made a grabby motion for the pumpkin spiced latte Bailey had picked up for her on the way back. From there it had been the weight room, a quick nap, and lunch before he’d made his way to practice, trading texts with Salem who couldn’t quite get over sending pictures of Batman filming locations when he passed by.

Bailey squatted on the side of the pitch to watch in amusement while Jorge screamed at the team’s defenders judgementally as they ran a drill. Carey leaned against the goal posts lazily, lips quirked and arms crossed over his chest as he tried to keep his amusement from showing too obviously.

Bailey tipped his head back as he gulped down some water from the bottle while his lips quirked up at Jorge chucking an empty water bottle at Gino.

It bounced off the brawny Italian defender’s tattooed arm. He bit the inside of his cheek and narrowed his eyes on Jorge.  Their captain waved a hand, ignoring their coach’s bemused laughter, and gave Gino a sharp, pointed command that had the defender huffing and turning back towards Carey with an exaggerated eyeroll.

Someone squatted down beside Bailey, and he glanced over only mildly surprised to find Rafa eyeing him with uncertainty as he sipped his Lucozade and tapped his fingers anxiously on the grass.

As uncomfortable as the proximity and the silence were, Rafa had been edging around him since they’d started the season.  Each overture had been aborted later and later until they had, apparently, gotten here where Rafa, if not Bailey, felt comfortable enough to at least sit beside each other on the edge of the field.

Rafa cleared her throat, and Bailey crooked an eyebrow and kept his eyes on the field, willing to hear Rafa out but not meet him halfway. Five minutes later, Rafa coughed awkwardly, cleared his throat yet again, and ran a nervous, trembling hand through his short dark locks.  “Jorge’s kind of intense this year.”

Bailey stifled a snort as he cocked his head, eyes tracking the movement of the ball as Gino, Aleks, and Stuart passed back and forth between each other, laughing when Jorge started yelling at their impromptu game of keepaway and Carey forewent paying any attention to the pitch to try and climb the goal. He glanced over at Rafa when he felt he’d made him wait it out for suffiently long enough. “ _That’s_ what you want to talk about?  After you’ve been circling me for weeks like a vulture?”

Rafa colored, and Bailey instantly felt bad, sighing and running a hand over his face.

“Sorry. How’s it been?” Bailey asked, grimacing at the awkward small talk.

“Good, good.  Went to visit my _mamãe_ and _pai_ in Porto Velho.  Spent some time in France.”  Rafa shrugged and itched the back of his neck uncomfortably.

Bailey frowned.  “France?”

“I…yeah,” he cleared his throat and nodded once, brusquely. “I…uh…went to visit Caroline. Bonfils.  Our—”

“I know who Caroline Bonfils is.  I went to her brother’s wedding.”  Bailey interrupted without any real heat to his voice.  Rafa’s face turned a deep crimson, and Bailey bit his lip to stifle laughter.  “I didn’t know you and Caroline were…”

Rafa opened his mouth, grimacing, before shaking his head and clearing his throat.  He nodded. “Last year when I was…” he glanced over at Bailey and paled.  It took considerable effort, but Bailey didn’t roll his eyes as he let Rafa work through his overwhelming guilt.  “Caroline started taking me to these lunches to yell at me about the way I was behaving. We ended up having sex after she got drunk off of sake at this sushi place, and we never actually stopped.”

“You’re literally sleeping with the scariest woman in the known universe.” Bailey commented offhandedly.

Laughing delightedly, Rafa grinned, “I know.”  Sighing, he sat back on the grass with a low groan and pursed his lips.  Swallowing, Rafa sobered and glanced over at Bailey with the same jitteriness he’d been displaying consistently while trying to make nice.  “And that girl who dropped you off at practice the last couple weeks?”

Bailey stilled and turned his head to raise his eyebrows at Rafa. “I’m still gay. That’s still a thing.”

“I know!”  Rafa barked sharply, face dropping when Bailey reeled back to glare at him.

Okay, in fairness, Bailey could make this easier, but he just didn’t feel it necessary after Rafa had spent a year treating him like shit.

Still, the attempt at small talk, no matter how see-through, was commendable enough that Bailey answered the question rather unwillingly. “Izumi,” he told Rafa reluctantly. “Kimura Izumi. She’s Salem’s half-sister form Japan.”

“Oh?” Rafa inquired archly. “So you and Salem…”

“We’re together,” Bailey finished for him.  “And living together.  He agreed to take in his sister as his protégé in the business so she’s here studying computer science and…robotics?  I think?”

“Staying with you?”  Bailey grunted in answer, and Rafa smirked at him slyly.  “You’re babysitting a teenager while your boyfriend’s out of town.”

“It’s hard to ‘babysit’ an eighteen-year-old girl whose about to go into university.  I was living alone and paying my own bills far earlier than that.”

“I can’t believe you let her drive your car,” Rafa snorted in disbelief.

Bailey laughed, “I don’t have a ridiculous attachment to my car like you have to yours.”

“My car’s fantastic,” Rafa said, affronted.

“Your car’s a _car_ ,” Bailey remarked.  “The only thing mildly enchanting about it is the overpriced golf clubs you keep in the boot.”  Rafa grimaced, and Rafa bit back a laugh as he paused and cocked his head to the side and continued haltingly, “Actually, if someone ever stole your car they’d be a very rich thief.”

Rafa scoffed as he scowled over at Bailey.  “If I get carjacked, I’m blaming you.  That’s such a jinx.  Why would you even _say_ that?”

“Why would you keep equipment, electronics, and wads of cash in the dashboard?” Bailey burst out in disbelieving laughter.

“Why _don’t_ you?”  Rafa argued, “What do you do if you run out of cash?”

“Use my fucking debit card?  It’s London not America.  Even the off-license by Salem’s old flat in Camden Town has a card machine!”  He fell over, still in hysterics, and Rafa glanced down at him with a soft look on his face, biting his bottom lip as he fought a smile.

“Awwww!” Carey called out from the goal, and Bailey looked up at him, through half-lidded eyes, slightly breathless as he tried to stop his laughter.  Carey leaned his chin on Jorge’s shoulder as he batted wide eyes at them. “Love on the battlefield!”

“ _How to Train Your Dragon_!” Bailey called back at him, recognizing the quote instantly.  The team froze, eyebrows raised to stare at him in disbelief.  He smiled slightly and shrugged sheepishly.  “Toothless is adorable.  I almost got a tattoo of him in Japan.”

Jorge snorted while Carey just narrowed his eyes on his skeptically. “Oh my God, Bailey, you’re such a child.”

“Fuck off, you’re the one who _quoted_ that movie!” Bailey laughed.

Carey held his hands up in surrender and stuck his tongue out.

“You’re both children, I swear,” Jorge rolled his eyes as he took a swig of his water bottle and turned towards the defenders.

Jonathon, their Liverpoolian rookie defender, raised a hand slowly. Bailey crooked an eyebrow and laughed at the ridiculous ‘can you believe this kid’ look that Carey shot him. Jorge sighed and put a hand on his head, waving a hand at the boy lazily.

“You don’t have to raise your hand Johnny.”

“I…right,” Jonathon nodded determinedly, “so are we done running this drill or…”

Jorge put his hands on his hips and turned to face Jonathon with raised eyebrows.  “So, you think because we got Bailey the Bound-and-Determined to laugh that means practice is over?”

Taken aback, Jonathon looked around for help to find most of the time biting back laughter instead of attempting to help the absolutely terrified kid. Bailey crossed his arms when Jonathon’s gaze landed on him, keeping his face straight and his eyebrows rose pointedly. Beside him, Rafa dissolved into laughter again when the kid paled further.  He turned to Jorge and pointed at himself, mouthing ‘me?’ Jorge nodded, and Jonathon swallowed nervously.  “Um…yes?”

Jorge crossed his arms over his chest and glanced back at their coach. “What do you think coach? We finished?”

Jonathon shrank back further as Brett studied them all with mock severity that everyone on the team save their rookies could see through with ease. Bailey hid his grin behind his hand until he could school his face.

Brett nodded his head.  “Alright, that’s a day, then, I think.”

The rookie collapsed against Gino, reassured, and Bailey devolved into laughter again, climbing to his feet.

His eyes met Rafa’s, and Bailey smiled weakly before moving into the locker rooms with the rest of the team.

Progress.

It was slow going, absolutely, but Bailey couldn’t deny how good it felt to be restoring the friendship he’d formerly had with Rafa. It would never be as strong or as trusting, but it could be enough.

As Bailey stepped out of the showers and toweled off his hair, ignoring Carey and Erik who’d decided to dance on the benches, completely bare-assed naked, and singing along to the Matilda broadway soundtrack that had to have come from Alana.  He pulled on his trousers and the Tokyo International University hoodie that smelled like Salem enough that he’d taken to wearing it everywhere while he’d been away.

His mobile rang, and Bailey’s smile widened automatically, knowing who it would be before he even picked up.

“Salem,” he said as he answered, tossing his bag over his shoulder and high-fiving Carey dutifully as he headed towards the door.

“ _Lyubimiy_ ,” Salem started offhandedly before cursing and shouting at someone. Bailey raised his eyebrows as he met Rafa’s eyes and nodded once, politely, and shouldered his way out the door. “Sorry.  Dane’s idea of marketing might actually get him killed, especially since _I know he’s been talking to Harry_!”

Bailey winced and grimaced.  “So, I take it your day’s going well.”

“Fucking hell, it’s going, which is all I can really expect right now,” Salem admitted, “especially when I was practically shoved on a last minute flight to New York to deal with incompetence and marketing ploys out my fucking ass.”

The words were garbled, but Bailey could hear Dane in the background shouting at Salem who tutted, unimpressed with whatever he’d said.

“How’s you day been then?”

“Better than yours,” Bailey replied smugly.

Salem scoffed, “What an ass.  Why do I love you?”

“Because I give good sex?”  He suggested with a laugh.

“If you say so.”

Bailey snorted and waved goodbye to Jorge as he made his way towards the front doors between him and the parking lot.  His phone chimed with a text message, and Bailey frowned, looking at the screen of his mobile as he tossed back, “You know, I’m still pissed at you for your sister-induced sexile.  Keep talking, Konstantin.”

 **Izumi:** Cant get to the front. Too many vans and people crowding @ the entrance

Frowning, Bailey shook his head in confusion, nearly colliding with Caroline who rushed in with her mobile pressed to her ear and an irate expression on her face.

“For fuck’s sake, how did this even happen?”  Caroline snapped into her mobile angrily.

“Right,” Salem drawled as Bailey made his way to the entrance, shooting off a quick text message to Izumi.

 **Bailey:** Ill come 2 u. Nbd

“You miss me way too much to forgo sex when I come home because of a grudge.”

And, okay, yes, that was true.

“Fuck off.  I have a strong constitution,” Bailey argued.

“When it comes to cock, you have the ‘constitution’ of a detoxing methhead being offered some crystal for free.”

Bailey scowled, “What a colorful metaphor.  Where do you even get this shit?”  He couldn’t help but laugh as he shouldered out the door.

“No! Bailey!  No!” Caroline called out from behind him just as he stepped outside to a horde of paparazzi with microphones, cameras, and videocameras who went silent as they looked at him for all of ten seconds, his hand falling to his side, mobile clenched in his fist as he gaped.

“Bailey!”

“Arthur!

“Are the pictures real?”

“Are the allegations true!”

“Is Konstantin Petrov your lover?”

“Are you gay?”

“Was your girlfriend all a cover?”

“Arthur!”

“Bailey!”

“What the hell?!” Bailey exclaimed, his eyes darting around, his breath speeding, and he brought his hands up to cover his ear, shaking his head and trying to calm himself down.

The camera flashes were blinding.  His ears rang from all the screams and shouts.  The mobile pressed up haphazardly against his skin, cold metal against his increasingly warm skin and Salem’s tinny voice calling his name repeatedly, blending with the cacophony of paps.

A hand grabbed his arm, and Bailey jolted, yanking it out of the hands, until they grasped his arms completely, spinning him around to reveal Caroline’s stony face.  With one hand, Caroline pushed him through the open door and with the other; she plucked the mobile from his fingers.  Bailey collapsed onto the ground, shell-shocked and hysterical, curling up as he felt people kneel down beside him.

“He’ll have to call you back,” Caroline said into the phone as she placed herself completely in the doorway and snapped at the paps in the coldest, sharpest voice Bailey had ever heard her use: “We have no comment at this time.  Camping out here won’t get you a comment. I suggest everybody go away for today as there will be nothing and no one saying anything for the time being.” With that, Caroline slammed the door and crouched down in front of Bailey, her expression both sympathetic and utterly full of dread simultaneously.  It said without words that this was a disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fucking hell this chapter was so much fun to write! I feel a little sadistic for saying that, but damn it was fun. Seven more chapters of the aftermath. Muahaha.
> 
> Also is you are a Larrie and haven't seen it go to tumblr Twitter something omfg the LARY HUG AND RBB IM NOT EVEN ALIVE TONIGHT DAMN


	54. "Crystals" by Of Monsters and Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Potter earns his pay check. Bailey makes a decision

**Text message to Patrick**

**Charlie:** Omfg your sister is such a fucking bitch.

 **Patrick:** What did she do?

 **Charlie:** The hell are you that you don’t know?

 **Patrick:** …working?

 

**Text message to Izumi**

**Bailey:** This is Caroline, Bailey’s team publicist. Call Salem and tell him to get here. Go home.

 **Izumi:** What’s going on?

 **Bailey:** Just call Salem

 

To: adrienne.montgomery@daiki.co.uk

Cc: nihal.farswhal@daiki.co.uk; harleen.bhattal@daiki.co.uk

From: salem.petrov@daiki.co.uk

Subject: Emergency

I’m on my way home. Literally. I’m at JFK and boarding in less than ten minutes. If you’ve seen the news, you’ll understand why, if not then I suggest you watch the news. Dane and Regulus are more than capable of handling what’s going on in the States. I think it’d be wise if Nihal came here for a bit about their training and hiring here. Also, when I get back I’m going through everything. Every email. Every camera. Every meeting. Every FB page until I found out what the hell happened.

Salem Petrov

CEO, The Daiki Company

**Text message to Bailey**

**Izumi:** Assuming this is Caroline still?

 **Bailey:** Yes. Bailey’s a little out of it at the moment. He’s resting while I talk to some people.

 **Izumi:** And you have his phone?

 **Bailey:** You think it’s best he has it?

 **Izumi:** Point.

 **Izumi:** I can’t get ahold of my brother.

 **Bailey:** Shit. You good for now?

 **Izumi:** Just take care of Bailey.

 

**Irial Dorian (@DorianII)**

Holy fucking hell @Cris_Emerson

 

**Cris Emerson (@Cris_Emerson)**

I thought this press was done with this. It’s disgusting, unprofessional, and morally reprehensible

 

**Text message to Rosie**

**Harry:** Call Adrienne Montgomery and have her send me Salem’s flight details

 **Harry:** I’ll be back in London within the next couple hours.

 **Rosie:** Where are you exactly?

 **Harry:** Lyons-Saint Exupery Airport.

 **Rosie:** Fucking hell

* * *

Salem got home in the wee hours of the morning before the sun had even begun to crest on the horizon.

And by ‘got home,’ Salem meant that he’d parked three blocks away and walked to his backyard to avoid the paparazzi parked outside of his house and doubtlessly terrorizing Mr. Tarris to no end.  From there he’d scaled the back garden wall and crept through the tangle of brambles and desperate to be trimmed grasses to pry open the back door, pausing just inside where he found one of the world’s biggest celebrities sitting crosslegged on the floor writing on his inner arm with a fine-tipped Sharpie, the tip of his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he frowned in concentration.

Startled, Salem looked around before clearing his throat.

Maverick didn’t look up as he gave Salem a finger wave with three of the fingers lightly gripping the pen.

He’d met the triple threat rockstar/movie star/model once before at his opening where Maverick had been a strange mix of outrageous self-assurance and childlike vulnerability, and Maverick _looked_ about the same as he had then with his ombre ringlets hanging loose around his sculpted face, light brown skin without blemish, and several earrings dangling from the lobe of his ear. The real difference in him was how gaunt he seemed, his skin unusually chalky and washed out, and the dark circles underneath his startling crystal blue eyes.

Made sense in theory as he was _supposed_ to be in detox with Harry in the French Alps.

Not in Salem’s house writing erratically but with singular focus on his arm.

“So…Harry brought you then?” Salem asked haltingly.

Scoffing, Maverick nodded as he continued scribbling.  Salem cocked his head, raising his eyebrows when he realized they weren’t _words_ , they were several overlapping lines of sheet music.

_What the hell?_

“He didn’t trust me not to bribe law enforcement, neighbors, or the pizza delivery guy to bring me cocaine. Thus here I am. He told me to stay put while he ‘dealt with this.’”  Maverick sat up suddenly, cocking his head as he narrowed his eyes on Salem. “So you’re the boyfriend then? Arthur Bailey’s. Not Harry’s.  I don’t think Harry _has_ a boyfriend. He barely has a life.”

Salem crossed his arms over his chest, “Iri thinks he’s dating Rosie.”

“ _You_ know that’s not true,” Maverick confided with a strange little smirk as he turned back to his writing, pausing with the pen hovering over his arm.  He looked up at Salem.  “They’re all in the family room.”

“ _All_?”

“The whole enchilada…” Maverick waggled his eyebrows with a serious expression that belied the playful tone.

Salem nodded his head. “Come on, you don’t need to sit in here. There are chairs that are perfectly acceptable.”

“Are there better pens?”

“Those too.”

At that, Maverick nodded sagely, letting Salem help him to his feet and following behind him docilely as Salem led him into the kitchen.  Maverick stood behind a chair at the island, tapping his fingers in a pattern along the back until Salem told him to sit, dropping the backpack onto the counter between them.  Maverick peered at it curiously, and Salem’s eyebrows rose as he opened it.

“You want a drink?”

Maverick looked up at him with a slight smile on his face, “Beer?”

“No,” Salem drawled with a light tone and a calculating smile.  Maverick scowled.  “How about tea?”

“Acceptable,” Maverick conceded.

Salem nodded and flipped on the kettle.  “Earl Grey?”

“Have you actually?” He gaped while Salem rolled his eyes and dropped a packet in a mug.

The kitchen door cracked open, and Izumi peeked her head inside, face pale and tear-stained, her hair twisted up in a messy bun, and her whole body dwarfed by a fluffy dressing gown that made her look ten years younger.  She stilled when she saw Salem before lurching towards him, wrapping her arms around him and stifling a sob in his chest.

Salem kissed his sister’s head before putting her at arms lengths, his gaze darting between a despondent Izumi and an inquisitive Maverick.  His gaze went back to his sister.

“Izumi, this is Maverick,” shocked, Izumi whirled around to gape at the man who smirked and waved at her. Salem rolled his eyes and dragged his sister’s attention back.  “I’m going to talk to Harry and company about what the fuck happened, alright? Stay here and help Maverick with his tea.”  He paused and turned to the man who’d been crucificed in popular press as a serial womanizer; while he didn’t believe _all_ the stories, he’d seen Maverick flirt enough at his opening to know that they weren’t all _false_.  “ _If_ I can trust you with my sister.”

“I’m a sucker for a beautiful woman,” Maverick expressed.  Izumi colored, and Salem cocked his head at Maverick, eyebrows drawing together at his words.  Eyes darting from Izumi to Salem, Maverick half-shrugged with feigned disconcern, “As long as I get my tea, your sister’s virtue is safe with me.  Harry’d be very disappointed if I didn’t even _try_ to shake my addictions.”

“Right,” Salem ground out skeptically before shaking his head and placing the laptop open on the table in front of Maverick.  He perked up and peered at it, fingers dancing in the air above.  “You can write your music on that.”

“There’s an app?” Maverick quirked an eyebrow doubtfully.

“Of a sort,” Salem shrugged, ignoring Izumi’s wide-eyed look of disbelief.  “You’ll figure it out.”

Maverick seemed delighted by that, and Salem pressed a last kiss to Izumi’s temple before walking out of the kitchen and into the family room.

While his words hadn’t been as descriptive as they could have been, Salem realized Maverick hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said everyone was in his house.  Bailey was curled up on the couch in a hoodie that belonged Salem and nearly submerged beneath the quilt his grandparents had sent them back with from South Dakota as he stared hollowly at the opposite wall. Harry sat on the arm of the couch beside his head in an oversized sweater and a pair of yoga pants that artfully managed to convey the haste at which he’d gotten here.  Rosie, propped up on the sofa back on Bailey’s other side, hadn’t even bothered to change out of her pajamas.

What took him by surprise wasn’t Harry booking in from the French Alps or Rosie showing up alongside her boss and best friend in pajamas and a leather jacket, but the fact that Caroline, the team’s general manager, the coach, and Bailey’s agent, Peter Kier, all stood and sat around the room in disheveled suits that said they’d been at _whatever this was_ for sometime now.

“Am I interrupting something?” Salem inquired dispassionately as he crossed the room.  Bailey’s headshot up, gaze locking with entreating vulnerability.  Already moving, Salem nudged Rosie aside as he plopped down on the couch, half in Bailey’s lap, grasping his hand as Bailey curled into him.

Caroline huffed and glared at him.  “I’ve been trying to call you for _hours_.”

Salem’s eyebrows rose as he shifted his arm around Bailey and ran a hand through the back of his hair comfortingly.  “Sorry. Next time I’ll make sure the plane flies below ten thousand feet so I can have cell signal.”

Rosie raised her hand, “Um…I got a hold of him.”

Yes, she certainly had, because Rosie was tenacious and harassed Adrienne constantly for hours until she’d been calling him the moment wheels had hit the runway and patched him through to Rosie without preamble.

Betrayal at its finest.

“What the hell happened?” Salem barked abruptly, cutting through the bullshit and going straight to the heart of the issue with a tone that bordered on dangerous.

“We were hoping you could tell us that,” the general manager hedged carefully.

Caroline shot him a venomous look that seemed more a warning than Harry’s disbelieving raised eyebrows and Rosie’s ‘you’re a moron’ expression.

Salem sneered, “I’ll pretend I don’t understand what you’re implying.”

The general manager mirrored Salem’s gaze, and Caroline’s low warning and Harry’s ‘I dare you’ look didn’t manage to stop him from voicing, “You’re the only one with motive.”

“Motive?” Rosie scoffed, “This is sports and celebrity not a true crime novel.”

Harry shook his head. “Is he?  Then we’re officially discounting tabloids, journalists, any idiot with a camera phone and social networking, everyone under the age of twenty-five who has an interest in football, and anyone who needs money these papers would be willing to pay?”

Bailey’s coach, Brett, blinked at Harry and turned to the general manager with confusion that the man echoed as he demanded angrily, “And who exactly are you?”

“Harry Benton-Sterling,” Peter Kier and Caroline sighed simultaneously.  “Former fixer for Dissident Management.  Handled the tail end of Cris Emerson’s closeting and all of his coming out.  An absolute pain in the ass. Represents Breaking Fourth, if I remember correctly?  Why are you here again?”

“Potter and I are…business associates,” Salem remarked, lips thinning as he looked from Harry to the assembled Arsenal senior staffers.  “He’s partly here to make sure I don’t get burned at the stake.”

“I know you didn’t leak the photos,” Bailey spoke up.  Salem’s attention immediately turned to his boyfriend.

“You’re not the problem, _lyubimiy_.”

“If you didn’t, then who did?” Brett asked.

It was a fair enough question, but completely besides the point.

Salem had studied them all in the Uber he’d taken from the Heathrow.  One had been taken at the summer party.  One he had sitting on his desk in his office.  One he had on his phone, and Kanani had taken it. If anymore existed, he couldn’t even begin to imagine what they had.  The only thing Salem knew for sure was that he hadn’t been hacked. Those pictures had been accessed manually by someone around and close enough to know they existed and have borderline unrestricted access to the devices where those photographs were archived. God help the thief when Salem found them.

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” Salem snapped.  “Harry’s lawyers and I can handle my housekeeping.  It’ll get done.  The fact is those pictures are out there.  They’re in print and online and everywhere.  I want to know what comes next.  What are you going to do about it?”

Harry nodded and glanced at Bailey.  “Right, what do you want to do about it?”

“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do about it,” the general manager snapped before anyone else even opened their mouth.  “We’re going to deny until we’re blue in the face and our vocal cords are worn out from the incessant denials.”

“I wasn’t asking you,” Harry remarked without once looking to the man, his tone arctic. “I wasn’t asking _any_ of you. I was asking Bailey.”

Bailey startled, his eyes going from Harry to Salem, who offered him what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and then to Caroline who’d harshly silenced any opposition there’d been to Harry’s declaration.  Turning to Harry, Bailey rolled back his shoulder, tilted his head up in feigned confidence, and sat up a little straighter.

“Is denial even possible? They’re not exactly subtle.”

“They’re also not explicit, and even then, it would still be doable.”  Harry tilted his head and stared at Bailey with a serene expression, as in his element knee-deep in drama, angst, and public-viewed shit as Salem was screwing around with codes and deconstructing tablets and laptops. “You’d be absolutely amazed at what you can sell the public when it aligns with what they want to believe.”

“You’re saying because they want me to be straight, they’ll go with it even if they don’t believe it?” Bailey inquired archly, though not disbelieving.

Harry shrugged, “People once thought Liberace was straight.”  And, didn’t that just sum it up neatly.  “Salem would have to be on board if we went that route.”

All eyes except Bailey’s swiveled to him, and Salem squeezed Bailey’s hand as he nodded, “Whatever he needs.”

“Great,” Caroline nodded, “then we’ll—”

“What if I didn’t?” Bailey blurted, his body tensing as his hand clenched so tightly around Salem’s that his fingers went white from blood loss.  Every eye turned to Bailey, and Salem balked.  Bailey darted a glance to Salem who tried—and failed—to quickly compose himself before he turned back to Harry.  “What if I didn’t deny it? What if I confirmed it?”

“You want to _come out_?” Caroline gaped, surprised but not as violently shocked as everyone else seemed.

Harry nodded like this was something that had occurred to him, his eyes going from Rosie to Peter to Caroline swiftly before returning to Bailey’s.  “I won’t lie to you: it’s a risk.  You risk losing endorsements and sponsorships and the support of the club and the league and your team.  It will get nasty. It will get ugly. If it isn’t a total disaster and your career doesn’t go up in smoke, the _fans_ will be disgusting. And that’s a _big_ if.”

Taking a breath and nodding, Bailey looked over at Salem who smiled and nodded slightly, not trying to pressure him but wanting to convey that whatever way he wanted to play this was completely okay by him.  Bailey tried to smile back and dropped it, turning to Peter Kier who half-shrugged with a growing, lop-sided grin on his face.  Exhaling tensely, he turned back to Harry.  “Would you handle this with me?  If I did this?”

“Harold ‘I love a challenge, might actually think I’m invincible Harry Potter’ BS?” Rosie snorted, and Salem ducked his head to hide a smile.

Harry rolled his eyes at Rosie.

“Of course,” Harry nodded before continuing, “Salem and I signed a contract in blood under the full moon and overseen by Satan that basically ties us together for the rest of our lives, through the legal and illegal, extending to family and significant others. I’ll be here, and I’ll work with you.”

Caroline’s eyebrows rose. “No,” she corrected, “with _me_. You’ll work with _me_.”

“We’ll see,” Harry didn’t even glance at her.

Rosie translated the vague, stoic statement.  “You’re Arsenal’s. You’re all about the bottom line, which is fine.  That’s your job. This is why Potter child quit Dissident—”

“He was fired,” Salem, Caroline, and Peter said together.

“He thinks he can save the social soul of our society,” Rosie finished as if she hadn’t heard them. “Harold’s all about the individual…or individual _s_ as the case may be.”

“You can’t possibly be—!” The general manager started.

Bailey cut him off, his grip on Salem’s hand getting impossibly tighter.  “I want to do it.  If you’ll help me…I want to do this.”  His voice grew weaker instead of stronger.

Salem and Harry shared a quick, alarmed and skeptical look.  Harry turned his attention back to Bailey.  “Even knowing this could end your career?”

Oddly, Bailey’s head snapped up at that, and he half-smiled tightly.  “It’s not like Salem and I will be broke, starving, and fighting unemployment by going into the workhouses.  He owns a multimillion dollar company.  I have a decent amount invested.  I can do more…than play football,” he said slowly and with a growing realization as he peeked over at Salem.  Taking a deep breath, he nodded and sat up straighter, looking Harry direct in the eye as he continued.  “Someone has to do it, even if I fail.  It’s 2019, and there is still a stigma against being openly gay in the English Premier League. This is Europe in the 21st century.  That’s unacceptable. And it’s unacceptable that I’m bullied, shamed, and threatened by what _could happen_ if I come out to keep me in line.  Someone has to take the first step or nothing’s ever going to change.”

Salem smiled and fought the proud tears that welled in his eyes as he squeezed Bailey hand and pressed a kiss into his temple, using the arm around his shoulders to haul him in for a hug.  Harry looked up at Rosie.

“Did you get that?”

“Absolutely,” Rosie nodded, “and it better go out in the official statement, Potter.”

Bailey peeked out from where he’d rested his head in the crook of Salem’s neck to meet Harry’s gaze.

“I’ll work with Peter and have Alexander Sullivan look at your documents, sponsorships, and contracts. Just to make sure we have our ducks in a row, lovely.  Before we confirm _anything_ , there are some people _you_ need to talk to first.”

Bailey grimaced, and Salem pressed a kiss to his temple but didn’t say anything else, because, yeah, he kind of did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maverick is...I know when I'm going to write about him, and I'm so mad it won't be for a while. Fuck me very much, Maverick amazing and a bit high anxiety.
> 
> And Harry is back to work his magic :D


	55. "Don't Be So Hard On Yourself" by Jess Glynne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Food brings the world together.

**Text message to Katie**

**Katie:** I told you this would happen.

 **Bailey:** Go fuck yourself.

 **Bailey:** No offense.

 **Bailey:** Actually offense intended

 **Bailey:** Fuck off

 

To: Squad List 2018-2019

Bcc: kier.peter@londonsportsmgmt.org.uk; haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.co.uk

From: kingarthurb@gmail.co.uk

Subject: Lunch

I know a lot has happened in the past 24hrs, but I’d really appreciate a chance to explain.

If it’s possible could everyone meet at my house tomorrow after practice? I’d really appreciate it.

Bailey

 

To: bonfils.caroline@arsenalfc.org.uk

Cc: kier.peter@londonsportsmgmt.org.uk; rosemaryireland@sterlingandireland.co.uk

From: haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.co.uk

Subject: RE: Meeting

I don’t mean to sound unprofessional, but are you fucking kidding me right now? I had an easier time working with Dissident on letting Cris Emerson come out than I’m having getting Arsenal to give me a fucking straight answer about whether or not they’re going to back Bailey through this. It’s going to be enough of a shit storm getting all his sponsors and promotions to fucking chitchat, but this is absurd!

Warmest regards,

Harold B. Sterling

 

**Text message to Harry**

**Caroline:** You’d have an easier time if you didn’t decide to take on homophobia in sports.

 **Harry:** I took on homophobia in the music industry. Football can kiss my ass.

 **Caroline:** Also warmest regards is a bitchy send off

 **Harry:** I had no idea -.-

 

**Arsenal forward accused of sleeping with tech mogul**

Only a few hours ago photos were released of Arsenal forward, Arthur Bailey, kissing with noted best friend and young entrepreneur and tech mogul, Konstantin Kimura-Petrov. The pair have been friends for three years after reportedly meeting during a post-game party during the 2016 Rio Olympics. Since then the pair have spent most holidays together, met each other’s families, and bought an apartment together near Kimura-Petrov’s family in Tokyo, Japan. Bailey and longtime girlfriend, Kanani Kapuana, split not long after the allegedly intimate friendship began. There has been no indication of whether of not this rumored affair fueled the couple’s break up. Bailey’s rep declined to comment.

 **Iri_D_Gray:** Way to put that idea in everyone’s head. ‘No idication’ well now there fucking is!

 **JaimeFrancais4:** Sérieux? This got published?

 **Henrsenal2515_:** If there’s been ‘no indication’ why was it even mentioned? Ffs let’s just crucify the man for being gay right now! Wtaf?

 **Black_jack_:** They’re still friends? And Kanani’s friends with Konstantin? In what world did their ‘rumored affair’ cause a break up? Why is a gay footballer even news in 2019?

 **Fab__fizzy44:** lmao lmao lmfao kanani’s a lesbo! She’s had the same girlfriend since forever. Openly! What even is my life?

 **Georgie4Chelsea:** Wow a footballer used a model as a beard! Breaking news! Come on

 **Derekisnotmyname:** They should kick him off the team! He lied to the league, the team, the fans! He ran off with his boyfriend to play house in America and Japan instead of keeping his ass in the country where he belonged! Why is this even being discussed.

 **TimOthy$un:** Uh…or he tore his ACL and had 6months of PT? I’m so confused.

 **jan_the_man:** And so the witch hunt begins curtesy of **Derekisnotmyname**

* * *

 

“You’re panicking,” Salem pointed out rather unnecessarily as he blew on his coffee, quirking an eyebrow at Bailey across the island.  “Why are you panicking?”

“Why _wouldn’t_ I be panicking?”  Bailey snapped glaring at Salem like this was somehow his fault.  It wasn’t, but Bailey needed to take out his tension on _something_ , and he’d been sentenced to temporary house arrest and invited over his whole team within the twenty-four hours his whole life had been overturned. Salem had also parent-controlled all the electronics in the house so Bailey couldn’t obsessively read what people were saying about him, probably for the best but it didn’t make him any calmer.

Of the two of them, Salem looked decidedly more frazzled.  His alarm had blared at seven, and he’d taken one look at Bailey, huddled with bloodshot eyes and staring at him unseeing, before he’d promptly declared himself on a well-deserved sick day, changed into baggy sweatpants, a tank top with the pride flag on it, and tucked his hair into a messy bun before making Bailey a brownie sundae for breakfast that he didn’t even bother to protest. Instead, he’d watched reruns of _Sex and the City_ until he wanted to pull an Elle Woods and throw chocolates at the television screen when they overcomplicated their not-so-actually-overcomplicated existences with relationships bound and determined to fail. Salem wisely chose not to read into that and had poured him a glass of Russian vodka sent from Katya and stored for emergency in the depths of their freezer instead.

Bailey had pulled himself together an hour ago after Salem had glanced at the clock and physically shoved him into the shower.  He knew he’d overdone it when Salem had reappeared with his mobile pressed to his ear and a glowing tablet in hand, freezing in the doorway and raising his eyebrows before asking, “We off to a press conference I don’t know about?”  Bailey had been too keyed up to blush, and Salem had let it slide with a quirked eyebrow and a quiet um-hm of acknowledgement.

Anything beyond that would have been unnecessary, as Ralph Lauren houndstooth trousers, a cream Burberry cashmere sweater, and a pair of Louis Vuitton leather shoes would never be categorized as casual.

Bakar had knocked on their door fifteen minutes later laden with bags of Nando’s takeaway and a broad smile, despite the hordes of paps still camped out on his lawn, that quickly fell when he saw Bailey’s attire.  Bailey had pulled him inside before he could comment and slammed the door amid furious camera clicks, shouts, and blinding flashes.  Bakar had taken one look at him and said, “It’s very nerd-chic, but it’s a good thing I took care of food.”

Salem had poked his head out of the living room at that point and waved before pointing out, “Good, you got the food,” like he’d been expecting Bailey’s ex-captain to show up, “did you get me some peri fries?”

That, of course, brought them to now with Salem being entirely too blasé, and Bailey being entirely too anxious.

“Do you _think_ your teammates are homophobic?”  Salem asked as he popped a peri-seasoned chip into his mouth despite drinking coffee. That couldn’t taste good. No way.  At all.

“Does that _actually_ taste good?”  Bailey blurted, balking.

“Arthur,” Salem cautioned even as he half-shrugged in answer.

Bailey sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose.  “No…I don’t…I mean…Rafa didn’t seem like that!”  He finally exclaimed.

Salem lowered his coffee mug to stare at Bailey thoughtfully before dumping it into the sink with a sigh and moving around the island, peri chips in hand as he wrapped his arms around Bailey’s neck and kissed him lightly.  “That was a dick move.  But he’s coming around.”

“And if I have to wait that long for my whole squad to come around, the club will cut me.”

Salem barely blinked, “And you’ll become a fabulous house husband, trophy wife, and arm candy. It’s fine.”  Bailey had accepted that that was a genuine possibility, but they definitely weren’t in a place where that joke was remotely acceptable. The only reason he even tolerated it now was because he knew Salem didn’t believe his career would actually end. “You helped England win gold at the Olympics for the first time in over a century, and then won them the World Cup, which—let’s face it—no one thought would ever actually happen.”

“Salem!” Bailey hissed, slapping his side while his boyfriend just grinned.  Sighing, Bailey shook his head, “What if they’re angry with me?”

“For lying or for being gay? Because, Bailey, you’ll have to roll with it either way, but the former they have a right to. I know that they weren’t entitled to knowing you were gay, but they also didn’t deserve six years of trust to be built on a lie about something integral to who you are or to find out from the fucking _Sun_.”

Bailey sighed. That was what he’d been afraid of.

The doorbell rang, and Bakar bellowed out that he’d get it while Salem kissed Bailey again. “I’ll be in my workshop if you need me, Skyping with the techies.”

“In Tokyo?”

Salem smirked and flicked Bailey, snagging the cloudy lemonade he’d set aside for himself with an impish grin as he corrected smugly, “San Francisco, actually.”

Bailey shook his head as Salem disappeared while Bakar called: “Uh…Bailey!”

Frowning, he made his way to the foyer, ducking his head and biting the inside of his cheek as his teammates filed passed him and into the family room where the smell of chicken emanated.  Only Carey and Jorge reached out, touching his arm reassuringly and squeezing his arm.

Mr. Tarris stood in his doorway, his back to a trashed, but blissfully empty yard.  He gaped, and Mr. Tarris cleared his throat while Bakar watched him with wide eyes.  “They had to go. I sent them away.”

“Oookay…” Bailey drawled, shaking his head.  “ _How_? Because my publicist, barrister, and agent haven’t been able to.”

“I work for the government. I can’t have them out here all hours of the day.”

“Oh,” Bailey’s eyebrows rose, surprised.  “Doing what?”

There was a long awkward pause before Mr. Tarris cleared his throat and simply said, “I work for the government.  That’s all.” Before turning on his heel and walking back to his house.

“Well, thank you!” Bailey called out to him before closing the door and frowning.  “Weird.”

“Mate,” Carey said from behind him, “your neighbor totally works for MI6.”

Bailey scoffed, “Okay, crazy, let’s go grab lunch, huh?  Clearly you’ve been watching too many Bond films.”

“’I work for the government.’ Fucking really?! I bet Salem knows.”

“I bet _Caroline_ knows,” Bakar retorted.

They all stilled before shuddering.  Yes, she probably did.

The living room was too quiet for the number of twenty-five plus players it had crammed into it with food.

In fact, it was deathy silent as people started piling their plates with food, snagging cokes, beers, and lemonade with stoic expressions and grim demeanor. Rafa, the lone exception, sat cross-legged on the floor with a plate of chicken wings, creamy mash, and garlic bread with a serene look on his face.  He offered Bailey a slight smile as he came into the room trailed by Bakar and Carey, the latter of whom shouldered passed him and dove onto the food furiously.  Fair enough as, unlike Bailey, they _weren’t_ under house arrest and had come from practice.

Bakar brushed against Bailey’s arm and whispered in his ear, “I got you a chicken Caesar salad and peri chips. Just eat them. Do not bitch about salt content, fat, or calories.  Yeah?”

Bailey nodded tensely as eyes turned to him, too wound up to argue the point.  Jorge passed him his salad and chips, and he took them with a tense nod, dropping to sit between Carey and Bakar.

“Bro,” Jared started, “what’s up with your outfit?  Caroline whisking you and lover boy away afterwards to chat with BBC or something?”

Bakar pointed at him and turned to Bailey, “See what I mean?  That’s what I _said_.”

“‘Lover boy,’” Erik remarked musingly, “where are you hiding Salem, anyway?  He is here isn’t he?”

Bailey swallowed and half-shrugged, “He’s working.”

“In the room he absconded with?”  Carey asked, bemused.

“He stole the dining room,” Bailey confessed uncertainly.

“‘Workshop’ my ass,” Bakar snorted, turning to look up at Jorge.  “Are you going to eat those drumsticks, Maldonado?”

Jorge crooked an eyebrow, “And if I say yes?”

Bakar plucked them off his plate with a grin.  “I’d say you’re captain of a club now, Maldonado.  You have to set an example of how to not be a fat-ass.  Comprende?”

“ _Pendejo_ ,” Jorge returned with no real heat, leaning over to steal one of Nico’s chicken breasts.

Wes brought it up first, regarding Bailey seriously and sad-eyed over a forkful of spicy rice. “Is it true then?” Everyone stilled, the attempted light atmosphere abating quicker than it had descended, and dozens of eyes turning to Bailey.

Fucking hell, their whole squad list hadn’t needed to show up.

Clearing his throat nervously, Bailey glanced to Carey and then Bakar before turning back to Wes. He drew back his shoulders, sucked in a painfilled breath of air, and nodded once, decisively. “Yes.”

“Fuck,” Gino broke out.

“G,” Piero told him cautiously when Bailey winced.

“No,” Gino shot back furiously.

“Gino!” Jorge and Bakar barked in tandem. They paused, glancing at each other, and Bakar took a bite of his stolen chicken, acquiescing. Jorge turned back to Gino. “I understand that this is hard for everyone, but we need to try to be a respectful as possible.”

Gino blinked at him. “This isn’t about him being gay. I’m _Italian_. Homosexuality has been legal in my country since _1890_.  I don’t care if he’s fucking Salem.  I care that we’ve known him since he was sixteen, and he didn’t tell us! How many lies has he told us to keep this secret?  Almost six years he’d lied to us.  I’m allowed to be pissed off about that.  I mean, did he think we’d care?”

“I care,” Alejandro interjected bitingly.

Jorge glared at him while Teo, a portugese midfielder, yanked his hair viciously and shot him a genial smile when he turned to glower, rubbing the back of his head and plate balanced precariously in his lap.

“Fine,” Gino held up his hands, “asshole here cares, but did he think Matthieu would care? Who’s been schtupping his pool boy on and off for the last ten years.”

The Frenchmen scowled at Gino. “He’s a personal chef, not a poolboy.”

Gino nodded his head pointedly. Bailey’s mouth dropped open in surprise since the only thing he’d known about Matthieu’s sex life was that he had a tumultuous on and off affair with a Parisian curator for the Louvre ten years his senior and with a husband.  Matthieu met his eye and half-shrugged, admitting, “I’m bisexual. I don’t actually hide it. It’s just…private.”

Jorge snorted while at least half the team looked at him skeptically.  “Not _that_ private.”  Matthieu shrugged shamelessly.

“Or David who’s in the BDSM scene with his wife and admitted to having anal sex more than once while she watched.”

David cocked his head at Gino while the younger players smothered giggles.  Jared, bursting out with a rather inappropriate, “Dude your barrister wife is a _Dominatrix_?”

“ _That’s_ surprising?” The rookie returned while Jared tilted his head back thoughtfully before half-shrugging and nodding his head.

“We agreed never to talk about that around polite company,” David told Gino.

“Polite company?” Wes blurted out, laughing.

“Or _me_ ,” Gino continued. “Me who has a pair of gay fathers and an omnisexual mother.”

Bakar coughed and held up a hand, “Let’s never talk about Donatella like that ever again. I’m going to throw up.”

Carey reached around Bailey to pat his back.  Rafa spoke up as Bailey began to shrink under the growing crowd of fervent sentiment that Gino might actually have a point.  “Bailey wasn’t _entitled_ to tell us anything.”

Gino glared at him. “Oh, so we’re pretending that wasn’t why _you_ didn’t talk to him for ages?”

“No, we weren’t ‘entitled’ to know,” Erik snapped, “but we’re a team and at least some of us should have been told, don’t you think?  This is about trust.  How are we supposed to play with someone we can’t trust and who doesn’t trust us?”

“The same way we’ve always played,” Jorge remarked coldly.  “Because we _are_ a team, and regardless of what Bailey neglected to share out of ingrained, conditioned, and well-deserved fear, we will continue to be a team. Let me remind everyone here that sharing secret is not what makes us a unit.  This is not a thirteen-year-old girl’s slumber party where her best friend lied about kissing her crush during a game of spin-the-bottle—”

Jared leaned over to Wes and whispered with a taken aback expression, “What the hell kind of slumber parties did he go to?”

“—this is an English Premier League football club.”  Bakar pursed his lips and nodded, impressed while Bailey blinked up at his captain through welling tears.  “If you’re homophobic, keep it to yourself.  No one wants to hear you because this is 2019.  The fact that he felt like he had to hide this to ensure his career didn’t end in a spectacular blaze of fire and lava says all it needs to about this league. You will publicly support this or I will end you.  You will publicly criticize a tabloid newspaper for forcibly outing someone if you are asked or I will end you.  You will absolutely not support _any_ organization that tries to undermine his place on this squad or in this club or I will end you.  That _includes_ this club.  Am I understood?”

“Yes captain,” the team spoke up, and Bailey stifled a smile that grew automatically at the unified and determined sound of his squad supporting him.

Jorge turned to Alejandro who shrank under his gaze.  “Am I understood, Señor Mejia?”

“Si, Jorge,” Alejandro murmured.  “I’m not homophobic, I was just saying…”

“Try to ‘just say’ a little less,” Bakar interceded.

Jorge sighed and turned to Bailey who stiffened under his gaze, “Bailey?”

Bailey wiped his eyes hastily and nodded his head.  Clearing his throat, he took in his team, still upset over five years of situational lying—fair enough—but unequivocal support.  “I’m sorry. I was scared, and I know that’s not necessarily an excuse that you want to hear or excuse after everything that’s happened, but I am sorry for lying to all of you. And I’m…really grateful to everyone for being so supportive and open about this whole thing.  If you have any questions, I guess…”

“Yeah,” Matthieu started, “is Salem any good in bed?”

Several complaints and ‘stop taking, Matthieu’ were uttered while Bailey dissolved into laughter and a smug smile.  The best reaction came from Salem himself who dropped the warped wire cutter in his hand and stood in the doorway, gaping, with a joint tucked behind his ear and eyeglass magnifiers perched on the end of his nose.  Everyone turned to him while he shook his head and waved a hand distractedly.

“I…” he huffed and sighed, “wire cutters…scalpel!  Do we have a scalpel the…I broke them.”  He finally got out simply.

Bailey smiled at him affectionately and shook his head.  “No scalpel. We have a letter opener?”

“We have a letter opener?” Salem balked.

“From _your_ grandmother.”

“From Russia with love,” Carey beamed.

Salem flipped him off, “Right. Letter opener. Might work.  Thank you, Arthur.  I told you not to panic, didn’t I?”

“See who’s not getting laid tonight,” Bailey remarked, forcing himself passed the discomfort of his whole team watching their exchange with interest.

“Um-hm,” Salem remarked skeptically.

“Did you know Tarris is MI6?” Bakar said as Salem turned to go.

“Yeah,” he shrugged, “he was SAS before that.”

Bailey’s mouth dropped open. “What?!  How could you not tell me that?  My whole life is a lie!”

“See what I mean?!” Gino called out. Wes threw a chip at his head.

Salem caught it in hand and tossed it into his mouth smugly.  “With the way you panicked about this little powwow, there was no way I was telling you our neighbor can probably kill a man with his pinky.”

“Like Bond,” Carey gushed.

Bailey grimaced as Salem waved at him, smirking, and walked away.  He had to admit, though, Salem might have a point.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Mr. Tarris is secretly a badass. That was fairly spur of the moment, but god help me I wanted those paparazzi gone from their front lawn and Mr. Tarris is pretty formidable.
> 
> Nando's is overrated but people in the UK for the most part seem to love it. It's peri-peri chicken, which is this spice that I don't actually like and that they never seem to put on chicken. The peri-salted chips are delicious, and they have 'cloudy lemonade' which in America is just 'lemonade' but be aware if you ever come the to UK, ordering 'lemonade' means you'll be getting a Sprite. What even?
> 
> It's entirely unlikely the whole team would be okay with this, but I'm very invested in them as characters and aside from Alejandro being a little shit and Rafa having a homophobic long-term moment I couldn't bear that level of angst and heartbreak.
> 
> And for anyone who doesn't know the SAS is the Special Air Services, elite British special forces. They're the Navy SEALs of Britain.


	56. "Fight Song" by Rachel Platten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bailey goes on Dorian speaks and decides fuck PR training.

**Text message to Harry**

**Irial:** Tell me I get to interview Arthur Bailey on my show

 **Irial:** You’re one of my best friends

 **Irial:** You wouldn’t hurt me by giving the INTERVIEW OF THE YEAR to someone else

 **Harry:** How do you even know I’m representing him?

 **Irial:** It’s a matter of public record?

 **Harry:** Since I’m technically working with The Daiki Co. I doubt that

 **Irial:** Bailey told Cris?

 **Harry:** No.

 **Irial:** I might have gotten Rosie outrageously drunk

 **Harry:** I’ll be willing to believe that.

 

To: [haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.co.uk](mailto:haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.co.uk)

Cc: [kier.peter@londonstportsmgmt@org.uk](mailto:kier.peter@londonstportsmgmt@org.uk); [alexander.sullivan@thompsonhardwicke.org](mailto:alexander.sullivan@thompsonhardwicke.org)

From: [bonfils.caroline@arsenalfc.org.uk](mailto:bonfils.caroline@arsenalfc.org.uk)

Subject: RE: ContractTerms

I understand your position. I understand why you’re pushing so hard for a response from this organization.  However, let me also stress that this kind of situation is entirely unprecedented, and that harassing me for an answer will not actually provide one. I am the press secretary. I am the mouthpiece for this organization not the deciding factor. When they provide me with an answer to your question, you will be the first to know.

Caroline Bonfils

 

To: [bonfils.caroline@arsenalfc.org.uk](mailto:bonfils.caroline@arsenalfc.org.uk)

Cc: [kier.peter@londonsportsmgmt.org.uk](mailto:kier.peter@londonsportsmgmt.org.uk); [alexander.sullivan@thompsonhardwicke.org](mailto:alexander.sullivan@thompsonhardwicke.org)

From: [haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.co.uk](mailto:haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.co.uk)

Subject: RE: Contract Terms

Caroline-

I really hope that’s the case, because you’re right. This is unprecedent. However, it wouldn’t be illgal nor outside the realm of possibility for Arsenal to issue a statement without providing notification to us or what that entails. There’s a man’s livelihood and career at stake here after he was forcibly outed by an outspoken and morally repugnant journalist, I’d like to point out. It’s been nearly seventy-two hours since this broke, I find it hard to believe Arsenal’s yet to generate a statement. I’m giving you a professional courtesy in telling you that we are. Today. Soon. I don’t want to force your hand, but this is where we are. I’m not going to allow a 21-year-old man to be jerked around like a toy.

Harold B. Sterling

 

**Irial Dorian (@DorianII)**

Surprise people! @Cherrie_TA and I are about to interview @ArthurBailey XD

 

**Text message to Harry**

**Caroline:** Tell me you’re fucking joking.

 **Harry:** Irial’s one of my best friends.

 **Caroline:** Motherfucker. Corporate’s head’s going to explode. Mon dieu.

 **Harry:** They had almost 72hrs to get it together. I’m done with this bullshit

* * *

 

“ _You look a little nervous.  Are you nervous?”_

“ _Oh my God, Cheryl, you can’t just ask people—_ ”

“ _If they’re_ nervous?” Cheryl cut in before Irial could finish. “ _I got the movie reference you were going for, but you’d think that you’d have picked up on a better line than a vague nod to_ Mean Girls _after however many years it’s been_.”

“ _Fifteen years,_ ” Bailey finally spoke up from where he’d been hunched in the corner, half-shroud in shadows, and valiantly attempting to avoid the webcam that livestreamed the entire radio broadcast.  A broadcast, that it seemed, most of the UK and various football-fanatic countries across the world had tuned into since Irial had announced the interview was happening fifteen minutes earlier.  His fingers anxiously played with the mug of Earl Gray tea cradled in his hands.

“ _I mean, he was already out, so what other kind of shenanigans could he get into?_ ” Irial waggled his eyebrows at Cheryl, grinning broadly.

Cheryl sneered, “ _Are you fu—reaking—freaking—kidding me right now, Iri?_ ”

“ _Should I go on? I have more._ ”

“ _Interview,_ ” Cheryl pointed out.

The door to the laboratory opened abruptly, and Harley stood in the doorway, hands on her hips as her eyes went from the techies, majority of the corporate staff, and all of the senior execs save herself crashed out on the floor with snacks and drinks, the livestream projected on a wall they’d ripped clean of blueprints to watch via a high-powered HD projector.  She pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Is this really the best use of company time _and_ property?”  Harley inquired.

“It’s _his_ company,” Regulus inserted from the wall-mounted prototype screen both he and Dane were Skyping from.

Harley balked at them before her gaze swiveled to the second where Michi, Katsu, Ryu, and Hikari had all clustered together in front of the screen while Izumi chattered to them in hushed Japanese, a headset over her head.

“Anyone else Skyping into the party?”

“I don’t suppose I count?” Katya’s voice added. Harley raised her eyebrows, and Nihal and Salem winced simultaneously, turning his tablet around to show Katya’s face.

She threw up her hands. “Oh?  Why not go all out?  No your mother, Bailey’s brother, Damien, his grandparents even?”

Nihal winced and turned his own tablet with a weak smile to show Damien, Tasha, Virginia, and John. Harley huffed and crossed her arms over her chest just as Bailey’s brother called out to Katya and wandered into the frame.  Her eyebrows climbed impossibly higher just as Kanani entered from behind her with Catriona, both of whom froze when Harley glared at them.  Kanani held up her hands innocently, and her girlfriend prodded her over towards Izumi.

Salem smiled, and Harley sighed and rubbed her forehead.  “Why didn’t you just _go_?”

“ _You_ told me I needed to be here!” Salem shot back, affronted while Nihal stifled laughter.

“Yeah,” Harley nodded, “to _work_ not to stop the whole day and call every person the pair of you ever met as a couple to watch this.  I’m surprised his whole team isn’t here at this rate.”

“I set up a screen for them at Bakar’s,” Salem shrugged.  “Like I’d let a horde of football players into this lab.  I’m a supportive boyfriend not a fucking saint.”

“Shh!” Tasha hissed from Nihal’s screen, making the man’s eyes go wide and body tense as if _he’d_ said the words instead of Salem’s outspoken mother.  “We’re trying to watch Bailey pour his heart out in the most emotionally stunted way in human history.”

“He’s not emotionally stunted,” Virginia argued unconvincingly.  “He’s just…sensitive.”

“Stoic,” John added.

“Stunted,” Katya cut in with a decisive nod while Jamie laughed and nodded.

“Fucking hell,” Harley groaned, stepping over the bodies on the floor and swiping a bag of Doritos out of one of the techy’s hands, ignoring his sound of argument. She plopped down between Nihal and Salem, tossing back a chip.  “If no one’s going to be around doing work, I might as well.”

“That’s the spirit, Leena,” Nihal said cheerfully, leaning over to press a kiss to her cheek and steal a chip.

“Shh!” Salem hissed, rolling his eyes and turning back to the screen.

Irial and Cheryl seemed to have gotten themselves under some semblance of control and had begun introducing the topic in as neutral a way as possible.  Bailey grew visisbly more uncomfortable with their preamble in the uniquely hardened, ice queen way that he had about himself.

Rosie and Harry had, at least, not reinforced that ice queen exterior the way Bailey might have. When he’d come down to greet them before Salem had left in what looked decidedly like someone would expect him to wear to an interview with Sky Sports or the BBC, Rosie had shared a long-suffering glance with Harry before she’d been physically forcing him back up the stairs.  He’d looked at Salem in betrayal as he’d shouldered out the door with a cheerful laugh and a genial wave.

The result seemed decidedly more casual but not so much so that people would automatically assume his publicist had dressed him.  Everything was still designer as Salem doubted Bailey owned anything but designer clothes, but instead of Houndstooth trousers he wore faded Armani jeans and a striped, monochromatic YSL sweater, his hair falling around his face in a way most likely meant for the exact and singular purpose of hiding behind.

“So posh,” Katya hummed, shaking her head and making Nihal, Harley, Kanani, and Salem nod in agreement.

“ _I mean, I’m no stranger to coming out,_ ” Irial put in. “ _I think I technically came out three times._ ”

Cheryl rolled her eyes, “ _Way to make this all about you Irial.  You who had a semi-controlled coming out.  Didn’t wake up one day and see pictures of you snogging your secret boyfriend in the papers._ ”

“ _No, no,_ ” Irial agreed, “ _Crispin technically might have—_ ” he mused thoughtfully.

His co-host raised her hands, “ _Nugh! Stop it!  We do not have time for you to wax poetic about your husband—_ ”

“ _Wax poetic?_ ” Irial choked out, taken aback.  “ _When have I ever ‘waxed poetic’ about anything?  That is quite literally my husband’s job._ ”

Bailey shrank in his seat, and Cheryl ignored Irial, turning to him, “ _What was that like then? Did you have any idea it was coming?_ ”

Clearing his throat and glancing off at some—Harry and Rosie, Salem assumed—Bailey forced himself to sit up straight, smiling stiffly.  “ _No. I didn’t even know it had happened until U was attacked by paparazzi right after practice and with barely one foot out the door._ ”  He sounded bitter, and it didn’t surprise Salem in the slightest.

“ _Margaret Gallagher,_ ” Irial nodded with a steely tone.

Bailey grimaced, “ _Let’s not throw her name around.  She doesn’t deserve any recognition for what she did.  Even Perez Hilton doesn’t out people.  Morally bankrupt, that’s what she is._ ”

“ _But not unemployed,_ ” Cheryl pointed out.

“ _She should be,_ ” Bailey and Irial responded simultaneously, a sentiment Salem and most of the LGBTQIA community could probably agree with.

“ _I assume if she’d never outed you that you would have stayed closeted until…what?  Retirement?_ ”  Irial prompted.

“ _Of course,_ ” Bailey shrugged, _“such is the life of professional atheletes fairly evenly across the board, at least in team sports._ ”

Irial nodded while Cheryl cut in, “ _Any idea who leaked those photos?  There were rumors it was—_ ”

“ _It wasn’t Konstantin,_ ” Bailey finished for her, taking Cheryl by surprise. “ _It wasn’t. I didn’t read the articles because I’m on lockdown for my own mental health, I’d imagine, but it was brought up in a meeting.  It wasn’t him. People just want someone concrete to blame that isn’t ‘the media just doing what they’re supposed to’ or me being unable to control my basic instincts or something equally inane. Sale—Konstantin’s looking into the leak, but I know it wasn’t him_.”

“ _So he’s been supportive through this whole…ordeal?  Konstantin, I mean.  I can imagine it’s been a bit crazy,_ ” Irial added.

“ _You tell me,_ ” Bailey remarked tonelessly.  “ _Was it intense for you?_ ”

Irial tipped up his chin and cleared his throat nervously.  Bailey’s eyes glanced off screen again, and his face-hardened even as his body visibly deflated.  Obviously, he’d been scolded for biting back.

Sighing, Bailey ran a hand through his hair.  “ _Yes, Konstantin’s been great._ ”

“He needs to get it together,” Kanani muttered while Salem nodded.

“Did they not go over this?” Michi inquired.

“For _hours_ ,” Izumi whined, “for _days_.”

“When he gets flustered he gets…” Salem trailed off and tried to find a nice way to put it.

“Mean in a conceited, arrogant manner?”  Jamie suggested.

Salem sighed, “Let’s go with that.”

“ _In terms of rumors about your…boyfriend?  Is he technically your boyfriend?_ ”

Bailey quirked an eyebrow. “ _I think even if he was just my fuckbuddy my publicist would tell me not to say that so…yes?_ ” Irial laughed while Cheryl covered her ears and screamed about language.  Bailey colored and held his hands up.  “ _Sorry. Sorry.  I…yeah, Salem’s my boyfriend.  We were just friends and fuckbuddies—_ ” he looked pointedly off camera with a half-smile, “ _for a while before we both got over ourselves and started dating seriously._ ”

Irial and Cheryl both seemed surprised to have gotten that amount of information from the usually so recalcitrant footballer.  His family clapped and cheered.  Salem beamed proudly, watching some of the tension bleed from him, not a lot but more than he ever shed during past interviews.

Recovering swiftly, Irial soldiered on.  “ _Right. Ex-fuckbuddy turned boyfriend who’s coincidentally the next Steve Jobs/James Cameron/George Lucas/kicked every Sci-Fi nerd in the last 100 years in the ass in terms of conceptualized futuristic consumer tech and the CEO of a multimillion dollar, international company. There certainly have been a lot of rumors about him, which I don’t think I need to ask if you saw because you’ve been on house arrest and news lockdown._ ”  Cheryl rolled her eyes, and Bailey smirked slightly. “ _People have suggested that Konstantion might have…_ encouraged _you to admit to your relationship since, as you said, most athletes never come out until they’ve retired and the ones that have, haven’t necessarily ended well.  Did he?  You could have denied it. People would have believed you as long as he corroberatted your story.  Wouldn’t be the first time a celebrity has shot down harcore, photographic evidence_.”

Cheryl slanted him a look. “ _Are we talking about Taylor Swift and Karlie Kloss.  They’re not dating._ ”

“ _We’re not_ not _talking about Karlie Kloss_.”  Irial mused.

Cheryl rolled her eyes while their almost as famous former intern Larry called out from off camera. “ _Even if they aren’t dating, they definitely kissed at that the 1975 concert!  Who talks into their friend’s mouth?_ ”

“ _Larry Stylinson,_ ” Irial, Cheryl, and Bailey replied at the same time before pausing. Cheryl sighed, and Irial cheered, reaching across the table to high five Bailey.

Bailey rolled his eyes. “ _It wasn’t an easy decision to admit we were dating, and to be honest, it’s not getting easier. And we did talk about together, not right then but we had before theoretically, and we did after. We’re partners and would affect him as much as me, evidently.  Ultimately, it was my decision, and I made it._ ”

“ _Can I ask why?_ ” Irial started hesitantly.

Cheryl rolled her eyes, “ _He’s asking._ ”

“ _When I went to coach teenagers in Venezuela a couple summers ago, I met this kid named Cameron. We’re still in touch. He’s playing U-18s for America this year.  He reminded me a lot of myself, and I wanted to make sure that he had a support system outside of his mother—who’s a ridiculously amazing woman, by the way—to be there for him. Salem and I went to pick up from his boarding school this year, him and his best friend, and drive them up to their parents for holidays, and we talked about playing sports and my being gay. And he told me that someone had to come out first.  That even failure meant someone had tried, and that change could only be forced. Cameron was right. And I could have denied it, but that just means me having to admit that for every sixteen year old footballer or basketball player or American footballer or hockey player who come after me, I’ve just helped keep them in the closet to because I had a chance to do something important and I didn’t.  Maybe it’s selfish, but I don’t think I could handle that sitting on my shoulders._ ”

Irial nodded his head in understanding while Cheryl who possessed no first hand knowledge of what both Irial and Bailey seemed to be bonding over simply sat back, content to watch and let Irial take care of this interview in uncharacteristic seriousness.

“ _I know you’ve been a lockdown, but the response hasn’t been too negative.  Tumblr’s on your side.  Most major LGBTQ non-profits have been commending you for taking this step. I know_ I _do. You’re right, this will mean a lot to a great deal of young people._ ”

Bailey cocked his head and smiled wryly, “ _Are we not going to talk about the negatives then?_ ”

“ _I don’t think that’s very constructive,_ ” Irial admitted sincerely.  “ _What you’ve done is a huge step forward for the world, and if you succeed it’ll be an even bigger one.  Of course,there’s been talk about whether or not you should be allowed to continue playing and that it’s inappropriate to allow you to share a locker room with your teammates._ ”

“ _Ridiculous_ ,” Cheryl remarked sharply.

“ _That you’ve disgraced the country, the sport, the organization.  That you shouldn’t be allowed to play for the national team._ ” Surprise and realization crossed Bailey’s face, and Salem’s heart clenched as Irial’s shrewd gaze picked up the look before Bailey fully had a chance to erase it.  “ _With the 2020 Tokyo summer games coming…fairly soon, I imagine they’ll be picking the national team any day now. You were an obvious pick before._ ”

“ _But not anymore,_ ” Bailey mumbled, nodding.  “ _I hadn’t really been thinking about it, actually.  I’ve been more concerned with the immediate problems like PR and keeping my job._ ”

“ _And suing that bitch, I hope_ ,” Cheryl murmured darkly.

Salem absolutely agreed…if they had the ground.  True or not, they could sue for defamation of character as Bailey could be cut from his team and lose his sponsorships due to what she said.  Alexander Sullivan had not only recommended it but also volunteered his services for free because it’s ‘the principle of the thing.’

“ _It’s been talked about. I know Salem wants me to just to set some kind of precedent about journalistic ethics, but I think I’ve set enough precedents.  Margaret Gallagher, who you’ve met Iri—_ “ Irial’s eyes widened, and he balked for a moment before nodding slowly in agreement, “— _is the lowest kind of human. Obviously, but the last thing I want to do right now is fight a war on two fronts.  Whether or not people think I’m disgusting or immoral or should be kicked off the squad is irrelevant.  Everyone knows what she and her publication did was wrong regardless of anything else._ ”

His lips quirked up into a smile at the fierce expression on Bailey’s face.

“ _Have you talked to your squad since this news broke?  I mean, your former captain’s here for moral support._ ”

Bailey laughed, “ _Yeah, yeah, he volunteered when Salem’s CFO grounded him and told him it was time to get some actual work done.  Sweet of you, Bakar, really._ ”  Salem figured Bakar had flicked him off while Cheryl shook her head, lips curving into a smile, and Irial and Bailey dissolved into laughter.  “ _I had the squad over for some Nando’s yesterday, kindly provided by Bakar._ ”

“ _Hey! Your boyfriend gave me the money. I wasn not about to buy almost £300 worth of food for you lot to have a heart-to-heart_!”  Bakar called out.

The office turned to Salem who cleared his throat, pursing his lips together, and narrowed his eyes pointedly at the screen.

“Honestly, Kostya,” Tasha sighed even as Damien laughed, “Food.  The only thing your son ever spends money on.”

Okay, that might have been true.

Food.

And travel.

And Bailey.

The last two, however, we not mutually exclusive and actually often seemed inexplicably intertwined.

Bailey’s mouth dropped open in surprise while Bakar laughed.  “ _You didn’t know?_ ”

“ _He didn’t tell me that!_ ”

“ _Does he ever tell you when he buys you stuff?  And, no, the flat you morons bought in Tokyo doesn’t count._ ”

“ _Language!_ ” Cheryl shrieked, hands over her ears. “ _We’re actually going to get fired one day._ ”

“ _Doubtful,_ ” Irial scoffed, “ _they’ll just keep fining us.  Now, you were saying, about your squad?_ ”

Bailey cocked his head and smiled slightly.  “ _They were more upset that I’d kept it to myself all these years, and, to be fair, I think even that stems more from this idea that they’d done something to make me distrust them. Not true at all. I think I was just afraid to trust them. You get so used to keeping a secret sometimes that you forget that there are people who love you and want you to succeed and be happy.  I didn’t give them enough credit.  I expected misunderstanding and predjudice because that’s what I was raised and conditioned to expect. That’s on me._ ”

Irial nodded in understanding while Cheryl shifted and blinked owlishly at Bailey.  Salem tensed.  That didn’t seem good.  “ _And your club? They’ve yet to publicly comment. How do they feel about these recent developments?_ ”

Salem froze while Bailey pursed his lips, eyes darting offscreen before returning to Irial and Cheryl. He smiled predatorially and leaned forward, forearms resting on the table and a dangerous look in his eye.

“No, Bailey,” Salem hissed at the screen.

Harry might be irritated enough at the lack of response to schedule an interview to force their hand, but Bailey was downright pissed.

“ _Can I be honest?_ ” Irial nodded profusely while Cheryl crooked an eyebrow, waiting expectantly.  Bailey smirked, “ _My agent and publicist are over there shaking their head, but honestly?  The club hasn’t said anything even though I’ve asked.  I deserve a response.  I didn’t ‘come out’ and not tell them.  I was outed, and then I communicated with them to let them know what my next steps were but they don’t have the decency to give me a ‘yes we’ll support you’ or a ‘no we won’t.’ Obviously, I’d prefer support, but if they’re not going to it’s understable if utterly irritating. The last five years I’ve played for this club I’ve behaved and produced well consistently.  There’s no excuse for what they’re doing to me. None.  I have to fight for my right to play football on a global scale, a national scale, a societal scale, in the league! I shouldn’t have to fight my club, not after I’ve proven I’m an asset to this team.  And I’m not going to allow anyone to tell me otherwise._ ”

Bailey’s eyebrows rose challengingly.

Salem dropped his head into his hands, torn between proud and exasperated.

Looks like congratulatory sex for Bailey’s first coming out interview was off the table. They’d be spending the evening eat Chinese food while Harry ripped Bailey a new one.

Joy.

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

@ArthurBailey…sigh #whydoyouhateme #upallnight #andnotinagoodway

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

@Salem_Daiki aren’t you supposed to be supportive?

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

@ArthurBailey good on you for standing up for yourself…and tisk for doing exactly what you were told not to. #iamproudofyou #yourestillnotgettinglaidtonight

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The coincidence! I didn't learn the 2020 Olympics were going to be in Tokyo until I researched it on my way to Paris. Fucking fantastic XD
> 
> This is bad. Like he should have kept his mouth shut about his club, but they also should have commented. They most likely would have come up with something by this point in real life, but this is fiction so I fudged. I fudged as close to the truth as I possibly could.
> 
> This is going to be very realistic bullshit, because in real life shit would not go down like this. However, Harry's a game changer. This is currently set four years in the future, and there's no reason to think that in four year's time this would be a more sensitive topic that would get a bigger push by society never mind what it would do now.


	57. "High" by Zella Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boy Salem takes out the trash

**Irial Dorian (DorianII)**

@ArthurBailey XD I’m dead #fucktheman

 

**Cris Emerson (@Cris_Emerson)**

@DorianII not funny @ArthurBailey who knew you’d prove to have a bigger mouth than me

 

**Rosie Ireland (@rosieposie)**

@Cris_Emerson that’s debatable.

 

**Text message to Bailey**

**Patty:** I’m so sorry my sister’s such a cunt

 

**Arsenal’s outed star says he doesn’t deserve the way the club’s treating him**

Arsenal forward, Arthur Bailey, was outed earlier this week and recently gave an interview on BBC Radio 1 to Irial Dorian, radio host and husband of popstar Cris Emerson, about his experience being outed and the response.  Or the lack of it, as it was noted that Arsenal Football Club, who Bailey has played for nearly six years, had yet to respond to questions about how they would be dealing with the footballer’s shocking outing.  Bailey, who has almost always been neutral in interviews, called out his club saying his team suports him and that the radio silence from his club—who can make or break the footballer’s career—is inexcusable.  “Obviously, I’d prefer support, but if they’re not going to it’s understable if utterly irritating.  The last five years I’ve played for this club I’ve behaved and produced well consistently. There’s no excuse for what they’re doing to me,” he told Dorian and Taylor. His emphatic explanation that he’d confirmed allegations due to a sense of obligation to those young atheletes coming after him has sparked international discussion and debate about homophobia in the league.  _You Can Play_ said, “It’s admirable to see a young, high profile athelete taking such a public and intimate stand on this issue.  He’s right. That is the only way to change the way these situations are handled.” His squad’s captain, Jorge Maldonado, said, “I’m glad to see Bailey standing up for himself and who he is.  It’s 2019 and we’re still conditioned to thinking staying closeted is the only acceptable response. Frankly, it’s outrageous.”

 

**Text message to Salem**

**Nihal:** I personally went over everything a second time

 **Nihal:** You were right about the breech

 **Nihal:** I take personal responsibility for this situation

 **Salem:** That’s unnecessary. It’s not on you.

 

**Text message to Harry**

**Salem:** I need to borrow Alexander.

 

To: [haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.co.uk](mailto:haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.co.uk)

Cc: [kier.peter@londonsportsmgmt.org.uk](mailto:kier.peter@londonsportsmgmt.org.uk)

From: [bonfils.caroline@arsenalfc.org.uk](mailto:bonfils.caroline@arsenalfc.org.uk)

Subject: Arsenal’s Official Statement

I cannot believe you forced our hand like this. However, you are getting your statement.

Caroline Bonfils

 

**‘We stand behind Bailey’ says Arsenal FC**

Arsenal forward, Arthur Bailey, publicly called out his club for refusing both a public and private statement over his forced coming out. After several LGBTQIA rights organizations and public pressure both in support of and opposing Arthur Bailey’s continued presence on the roster, the club has issued a statement at a press release earlier today.  Caroline Bonfils, the club’s press secretary, said, “In spite of inneuendo and accusation, the club neither supports nor opposes Mr. Bailey. The personal life of the squad’s players has nothing to do with the overall club unless it is a crime. Past situations might have shone a negative light on the way a club deals with its player’s relationships or sexuality, but Mr. Bailey’s private life is of no concern to the organization. He’s proven himself a valuable player on the pitch and unless he discontinues to do so the club will have no further comment.”  When asked what Bailey thought of the club’s statement, a rep said, “It was more than [Bailey] was hoping for.”

 

**Text message to Caroline**

**Harry:** Good move.

 **Caroline:** I had to respond didn’t I?

 

**‘We stand behind Bailey’ says Arsenal FC comments**

**MorganMcCallum:** Thank fuck. It’s football. The club should stay out of shit like this!

 **Anders91_01:** Weak shit! They just don’t want to start drama and get sued! Kick his faggot arse out!

 **gG78212:** People like you are the reason society’s declining.

 **Anonymous:** No poofs like him are the reason society’s declining

 **hallllllllllllllll8:** Actually aren’t gays like an evolutionary design to keep the population from hitting the apex of our S-Curve when the environment can no longer sustain the amount of life within it and starts killing us off.

 **Tina_x_:** Omfg wuuuuuut?

 **Anonymous:** Vague nonanswer from Arsenal ftw!

 **Anonymous:** hahaha yeah they didn’t actually say shit

 **ARSENEGAL:** They basically said they’d be keeping him around for the forseeable future which is more than anyone’s gotten before especially after he publicly dragged them

 **Nikita_theman:** The real test is whether or not he plays on the national team

 **Anonymous:** Yeah he’s not some small time nobody. If he doesn’t make the national team it’s predjudice hands down

 

To: [kier.peter@londonsportsmgmt.org.uk](mailto:kier.peter@londonsportsmgmt.org.uk)

Cc: [kingarthurb@gmail.co.uk](mailto:kingarthurb@gmail.co.uk)

From: [haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.co.uk](mailto:haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.co.uk)

Subject: Sponsors

What the actual fuck? I’ve been talking to Bailey’s sponsors/promotional stuff/etc. Was it intentional that almost all of them are LGBTQIA public supporters or associates or friends? I mean, there are a couple who I’m confident are going to drop him, but most are completely fine with his coming out. Also, _Attitude_ wants to do a spread on him (and possibly Salem) so we need to talk about that. You Can Play got in contact with me about him being a spokesman. The Trevor Project called to send him a thank you. All Out called me for him to speak. _Ellen_ wants him whenever he’s free (you should definitely do Ellen). I’ll fax you over a list. Bailey, it’s your job to get Salem on board for one of these.

Harold B. Sterling

* * *

 

The list of things Salem wanted to do less than have a public personal interview where some man he’d never met was going to pick apart the dynamics of his life and relationship was a minuscule, but that’s where he was after Harry—the treacherous leech—had managed to convince Bailey to puppy-dog eye the shit out of Salem to agree to an interview in exchange for not scolding him all night about his impromptu Arsenal-bashing incident.

Fuckers, the lot of them.

Either way, Salem couldn’t say no to Bailey and had agreed to an interview with _Attitude_ , albeit reluctantly especially since the last time he’d bothered to read the noted gay magazine at all had been four years ago when they’d been recruited to help Liam Payne spread a lovely rant about how rainbow flags at concerts make him uncomfortable and the fans make everything about Larry Stylinson. He’d been nineteen and figured the disgust and discomfort _he’d_ felt reading a _gay magazine_ bashing LGBTQ One Direction fan was reason enough for him to move onto other horizons like _All About Circuits_ , _Time,_ and _GX Magazine_.

He had shit to take care of first, which is how he’d ended up going into his office in a pair of solid black, non-holey jeans and a black cashmere sweater that belonged to Bailey and smelled like his cologne.  His hair dyed a complete burgundy and only his nose ring in place.

The alien looks shot his way from the moment he’d stepped into the elevator had been both understable and reassuring.  At least his people knew how well enough to recognize that today was not the day to fuck around with him.

Adrienne had ignored how he looked and cheerfully let him know that Alexander Sullivan was waiting for him in his office.

And so he had been, all ridiculously blond, well-dressed, raised eyebrows, sitting in the corner and playing Words With Friends on his cell phone against Shahnaz Attar from Azadi.

 _What a bizarre man_.

 **Bailey:** Nani, Cat, Iri, and Cris invited themselves over for dinner

 **Bailey:** Nd Bakar nd Alia 2.

 **Bailey:** ok nd nihal and Harley

 **Bailey:** pick up sme romaine croutons Caesar dressing wine and bacon on the way back

 **Bailey:** apparently were hosting a dinner party. Ill make carbonara

Salem smiled slightly, glancing to the clock with a scowl of impatient before turning back to his phone.

 **Salem:** Carbonara and Caesar salad?

 **Bailey:** i feel like ur gng smwhre with this?

 **Salem:** Lolz white wine or red?

 **Bailey:** Red :P

A timid knock came from the door and both Alexander and him looked at it in surprise.

Alexander glanced at his pocketwatch and shock his head.  “She’s late.”

“She’s always late,” Salem replied tersely.  Alexander’s eyebrows rose as Salem shot back a quick ‘ttyl’ to Bailey before calling out that she could come in.

Bailey had been in a cheery mood since he’d woken up that morning despite the smattering of reappearing paps on the front lawn waiting to see if Sale would emerge from the house. They’d gotten Izumi instead which had started off a whole round of inappropriate questions about threesomes, alternative lifestyles, and cheating with ‘your lover’s sister.’ Izumi, gem that she is and as media savvy as a peon, had balked and glared at them over the rim of the Starbucks coffee Bailey still picked up for her everytime he went running without fail (despite Salem’s protests) and had promptly declared: “I’m staying with him and my _brother_. He’s dropping me off at my _job_ morons.”

Three hours later, they’d written she confirmed ‘the pair are living together’ and ‘serious enough to play house with Kimura-Petrov’s younger sister.’  If he never heard the words ‘playing house’ in the same sentence as ‘his younger sister’ again it would be too soon.

In either case, they’d ignored the paps better than Salem had (he still parked two blocks away and scaled the backyard fence).  They’d resumed their usual routine of driving to Arsenal’s practice field before Bailey handed over the car to Izumi who kept it the rest of the day save for when she picked him up from practice.

They were ridiculous.

Salem was hopelessly endeared by it.

Georgia came into the room timidly, tucking a bleached blonde curl behind her ear and crossing her arms over her waist as she looked to him with wide-eyed.  She teetered on her heels, surprised when she noted Alexander’s presence off to the side.  Salem cleared his throat.  Georgia wisely chose to focus on Salem.

“You wanted to see me?” Georgia asked with feigned bravery evident in every line of her taut body and every shallow breath she took, trying not to show that she was on the verge of hyperventilation.

“Take a seat, Georgia.”

Her crimson lips dropped open in surprise, but she composed herself quickly and folded herself into the seat in front of Salem, legs crossed at the ankles _Princess Diaries_ style and hands resting with all the debutante grace she could muster. Her eyes darted to Alexander quickly again before flitting away and back to Salem.  She tossed her hair over her shoulder and took a deep breath through her nose.  “Is this about those days I didn’t show up for work?  Because I gave an explanation for that.  I was at my GP about my hormone supplements.  I think that’s a reasonable excuse for being late to work, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Salem nodded genially, his tone utterly reasonable.  “That’s a valid.  You even provided a note.” Georgia beamed while Alexander shifted in his chair open Salem’s shoulder.  “For _one_ of the days.”  Her face fell, and Salem’s hardened as he gritted his teeth and cocked his head, linking his hands together and resting his chin on them.  “That’s not what this is about, though.”

Georgia cleared her throat delicately.  “If this is about that time at the company party that Bailey and I…”

Alexander coughed and leaned forward to raise his eyebrows at Salem who gave Georgia a strictly ‘what the fuck are you talking about’ look.  “Bailey and you…” Salem drawled with confusion.  _What is this girl talking about?_

“We, you know, had a thing?”

“Had a _thing_?” Alexander barked out with a hard laugh. “ _Bailey_ who’s as gay as rainbow-infested glitterball in a Lady Gaga conert wearing Liberace’s clothes?”

Salem glanced back at him. “That was a bit much, Alexander.”

Alexander shrugged his shoulders while Georgia colored and pursed her lips in disdain, her chin tilting up as she looked down her nose at him.  Alexander seemed unbothered by both the look and the woman herself, which was a rare first.  People had a tendency to either love Georgia or hate her from the outset. No one who started off hating her ever seemed to change their minds, but people who loved her often did a rather abrupt and violent about face.

“Who are you?” Georgia demanded condescendingly.

Not to be outmaneuvered, Alexander laughed derisively and crossed his arms.  He leaned back in the chair with an eyebrow quirked as he studied and pinned the woman down in the terrifyingly knowing manner he had in sheer seconds.  “Someone who pays his own bills, has a career that he both enjoys and is skilled at, and gets to travel the world on someone else’s dime to pick arguments with people who think they’re superior to me.”

“Excuse me!”

“Zip it,” Salem ordered, and she complied, turning back to face him with a petulant pout. He raised his eyebrows. “You’re aware that Harley notified me on your persistant attempts to to get a raise.”

“I haven’t asked since—” she began to argue.

“I know,” he held up a hand. “However, _Kanani_ told me that you haven’t been paying rent in full… _when_ you’ve been paying rent _._ ”

Georgia swallowed her anxiously and shifted with discomfort, fluffing up her hair in a manner that spoke distinctly to how unsettled she was.  “I didn’t realize it was my CEO’s business that my finances aren’t in the best shape.  And I assume you’re not doing this as a friendly chitchat.”

“I think that ship sailed a couple weeks ago when you violated the trust of people close to you so that you could supplement you’re very cushy wage that you don’t even deserve.” Salem remarked. Georgia went red, eyes flinty with anger as she started to argue with what Salem had accused her of. It was when she opened her mouth to speak that the anger boiled over.  “Do not start.”  She winced, and Alexander’s eyebrows rose as he looked between the pair of them. “This an electronics company, which means when it comes to security, I take it very very seriously. Did you know that when you signed your employment contract it included a provision that statement clearly in the event of a company breach of protocol this company has the right to search through any and all employee files, sites, and emails to determine who leaked the information?”

Georgia blanched. Clearly her throat nervously, she twirled a curl around her finger with faux innocence, the sheer terror in her eyes apparent.  “That’s something that you should mention.”

Salem huffed out a laugh while Alexander added, “Reina and I went over the employment contract. There’s no tricky language. You have a forty-eight period to renege with no penalty and full pay to the hours worked during that time. And you have, in addition to that, seventy-two hours to read the contract and ask questions to a member of staff or Reina directly.  You know, head of legal. You had _one hundred twenty hours_ total to wiggle out of that contract.  And read it.”

“Did you snoop through my emails?”

“Yes,” Salem remarked. “Between me, the security staff, and Nihal, we snooped through _everyone’s_ personal information!”

“You had no right!” Georgia hissed.

“No, Margaret Gallagher had ‘no right’ to out someone whose career could be over directly because of her actions.  She had no right to post private photos that never should have been seen by the public even if we _were_ out.  And whoever gave her those photos had no right to breach the trust of everyone close to them to sell them to a sleezy paparazzo who got kicked out of America for being a bigger piece of shit than Perez Hilton!  I had every right to go through your emails to get answers to why mine and Bailey’s and Kanani’s privacy was invaded on a _global scale_!  Especially since you’re the one who signed the damn contract! Did you even read it?”

“Who has time to read a forty-five page employment contract?”

“Literally everyone else! You’re the _only_ person I didn’t get emails, phone calls, and questions from about this company ‘wanting to do’ to their personal information!”  Georgia drew back appalled, and Alexander looked between them wordlessly. “You’re also the only person who was ten thousand pounds in credit card debt for shopping, expensive clubbing, and gambling who also managed to pay it off—in full—last week _and_ book a £1600 cruise in the Mediterranean for Christmas!”

Georgia huffed and crossed her arms, glaring.  “That doesn’t prove anything.”

“It woudn’t if your ailing father had died and left you his million dollar life insurance, but since he hasn’t, which I know and you don’t be cause _I_ talk to him and you don’t, it proves quite a lot.  Especially since the money wired into your account came directly from _The Sun_. And you _emailed_ her!”

“I needed help!” Georgia cried out furiously. “I needed help and no one would because they didn’t think _you’d_ like it!”

“No,” Salem shook his head, “you needed to stop spending money you didn’t have!”

“You didn’t pay me!”

Salem threw his hands up. “For fuck’s sake. Half the time you weren’t here, for starters, and I paid you as if you had been anyway.  Secondly, you make £15 per hour for the eight hour, five day a week work schedule you hardly bother to show up for. That’s over £8 more than someone your age and with your qualifications.  That’s £120 per day and £600 per week.”

“Other people get paid more than me!”

Alexander rolled his eyes.

Salem crooked an eyebrow. “Other people work seven days a week until I or Nihal or Harley forcibly kick them out of the building. _If_ we kick them out because half the time I’m here with them fiddling with wires.  And not for overtime, but because they want shit to work right. And if you want to go there, you make approximately £28,800 per year, which is £2,300 more than the UK national average and £12,000 more than secretaries and receptionist make on average per year.  Which is actually your technical job description.  I overpay you to not show up and have Adrienne do all your work.  That’s why when I fire and sue you for breach of contract, defamation, and whatever else Alexander feels I should, I’m promotoing Adrienne to my well-paid personal slave since she does it anyway and hiring the girl from the building’s mailroom on as receptionist.”

“You can’t sue me,” Georgia gaped.  “For what? For selling a bunch of pictures to a reporter?”

Alexander shook his head. “For selling pictures that aren’t yours, weren’t given to you, and didn’t even include you to a reporter at the expense of other people for your own benefit.  You stole those pictures for profit and were willing to destroy Bailey do it.  The world doesn’t revolve around you.”

Georgia got to her feet and glared down at Salem.  “You’re just doing this because you’re still pissed about what happened in high school!”

“I am,” Salem nodded. “I am still pissed about high school. I will always be pissed about high school.  You destroyed me. You destroyed my world view, my trust in a partner, my ability to feel safe with someone who loved me. _You_ did that because you’re a selfish bitch who knew that you didn’t want me but wanted to win so badly that you ruined me so no one else could have me until you’d gotten what you wanted. But high school is over. I changed.  You didn’t.  You’re still the same self-centered, hateful cunt who’s so stuck on herself that you’re willing to destroy anyone else to have things your way.”

Georgia sneered, and Salem got to his feet slowly, meeting her eyes levelly. “You don’t get to win this time. I am going to annihilate you. When I’m done with you, you won’t have a penny left to your name, a friend willing to talk to you, a person in this country willing to hire you.  I will drag you to court and publicly throw all of our dirty laundry to the tabloids for fodder just like you.  And when I’m done, I’ll make damn sure Bailey and Kanani sue too.  And then you can go crawling back to the only person brave enough to love you unconditionally, dying slowly and painfully in a hospital, only wanting his daughter to call him back.  Where you belong.  Far away from me.  And light years away from Bailey, because I’ll be damned if I let your selfishness go unpunished when it affects my boyfriend.”

“You’re a monster.” Georgia snapped.

“That makes two of us then. Get out of my office and out of my face.”

Georgia spun on her heel and left, slamming the door shut behind her.  There was a moment and a second door slamming before muffled cheers rang out. Salem sank down into his chair and tilted his head back to look at Alexander.

“That was terrifying.”

“Thanks.”

“What a bitch.”

“I know.”

“You get to call Harry and tell him.”

“Asshole.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never thought my journalism law exam would come in so handy! She could definitely be sued for defamation, although I don't know anymore since Bailey admitted it was true, but if he hadn't regardless of whether that information is true all you have to prove to win a defamation case is that the information could damage the person or enterprise, possibly. There are plenty of other things she could (and will) be sued for.
> 
> And Salem being a badass boss. I just thought it was something you needed...and he needed.
> 
> I know what I'm doing with Alexander too, but that'll be a minute since he's more involved with Azadi than he is with Chaz and Pat


	58. "I'm Yours" by Alessia Cara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drama in the league and dates in Paris.

**Text message to Salem**

**Harry:** I think you might have terrified Sully

 **Salem:** Are we talking about your lawyer?

 **Salem:** Tell him fair’s fair after what happened with Interpol

 **Harry:** I think the pair of you need some space

 **Salem:** I think I missed the point of that statement.

 **Harry:** Did Bailey say yes to suing her?

 **Salem:** Yes so did Kanani

 **Harry:** Whose soul did you have to sell for that to happen?

 **Salem:** Catriona’s. But she volunteered.

 

**RT by @FatherMax, @prettyboyBas, @AlinaAzadi, @MaverickOfficial, @Cris_Emerson, @Kanani_Pahala, @Salem_Daiki, @Cherrie_TA, @Mama_Petrovna, @StPatty_, @CharlieBeck, @sorensoars, @Izumiii3, @Kimura_Michi, @KatsuDoku**

**Irial Dorian (@DorianII)**

Fuck the haters @ArthurBailey. We’re rooting for you. Have a good game #yougotthis #allthelove

 

**Text message to Bakar**

**Bakar:** Fucking hell

 **Salem:** This is gonna be a rough ass game

 **Bakar:** You here?

 **Salem:** Are you?

 **Bakar:** Alisa and I will come to you. Where r u?

 **Salem:** With the entirety of the London corporate office.

 **Salem:** We’re a bunch of tech nerds at a football game. You’ll find us

 

**Jorge Maldonado (@Jorge87Official)**

If you want to hurl insults do it elsewhere #disgusting #youkissyourmothrewiththatmouth

 

**Rafael Correa (@Rafa86)**

@Bon_Carol how mad would you be if @carey_me_home and @Gino_Accosi cracked some skulls?

 

**Caroline Bonfils (@Bon_Carol)**

@Rafa86 almost as mad as I am that you actually posted this on social media.

 

**Bakar Bengochea (@Bakar04Basque)**

I have never been more disappointed in society or the league as a whole. That’s a motherfucking penalty! Am I the only one with eyes? Is it too late to un-retire?

 

**Carey Ahearn (@carey_me_home)**

@Bakar04Basque I’ll add you to our ‘I’ll cut a bitch’ squad.

 

**Caroline Bonfils (@Bon_Carol)**

Ffs does no one have discretion today?

* * *

Bailey sat with his head between his legs and staring with an unseeing gaze at the concrete floor beneath his bare feet.

The squad had been subdued since halftime amid the blatant slurs coming from the crowd, the language barrier all but obliterated under that kind of pressure and reinforced by it being echoed by the players.

Maybe it was a stereotype that had been running through his head—or his frequent interactions with Sebastian Bonfils and his husband—but Bailey had been thoroughly unexpected to face the vitriol and blatant predjudice he’d faced from fans, players, and referees alike on the pitch.

To be fair, neither had the coaching staff or the whole of the squad who’d seemed taken aback from kickoff.

He was exhausted and beaten down both physically and emotionally.  All Bailey wanted was to pass out in his own bed and curl up beneath the covers with his body pressed against Salem’s to try and pretend like the outside world didn’t exist.  Of course, Bailey was in Paris, which mean that the former was an impossibility and the latter while probable just seemed to admit to defeat in a place that didn’t like, didn’t want him, and didn’t want to understand him doubtlessly in the name of maintaining the integrity of the sport.

 _Motherfuckers the lot of them_.

Bailey admired the fortitude that his squad had showed, remaining behind him when they could have distanced themselves, especially when it had been obvious everything was getting to him.  First he’d played his usual brand of smart and high-octane.  Then he’d played safe like he was trying not to get noticed up until his coach had called him over to give him an unsubtle ‘fuck ‘em’ speech that had done its job.  Aggressive generally wasn’t his style of play, but that had been where he’d gone, aggressive but legal, that had quickly become the dirty but ineffective style he’d picked up after a ref had carded him for ‘Failure to respect the required distance when play is restarted with a throw-in’ and then threatened with another when he’d argued.

The constant insults, trash talk, tripping, and Paris being just generally _up his arse_ had worn him down.

Tattered _101 Dalmations_ Vans stopped in front of him, the rubber sidewall pressing against the tip of Bailey big toe.

He didn’t look up, but his shoulders drooped just slightly, relaxing automatically just because of Salem’s presence.

Salem squatted down in front of him and rested his hands firmly on Bailey’s thighs.  “Hey, _lyubimiy_.”

Bailey laughed wetly, the tears threatening to spill.  He ran a hand roughly over his face as he looked up at Salem through tear-filled eyes.  “That was fucking awful.  I thought it was bad back home.  What a fucking joke.”

Sighing, Salem leaned in and pressed a kiss to Bailey’s forehead. It shouldn’t have been as comforting as it was, but Bailey reached out and wrapped his arms around Salem’s neck, clenching his hands in the fabric of his Cheshire cat pullover. He pressed his nose into the fabric and breathed in the familiar scent of Salem and the fabric softner that Salem insisted on using every time they did laundry.  Home.  Fuck.

“Do you know what the ref said to me after he carded me for fuck all?” Bailey pulled back to look up at Salem who tilted his head but allowed Bailey to go on, uninterrupted. “He said that if I wanted to keep bitching like the pussy he knew I was, he’d card me for a unsportmanlike behavior.” He barked out a harsh laugh. Salem clenched his teeth together and exhaled angrily, reaching up wordlessly to wipe away the tears leaking from Bailey’s eyes.  He met Salem’s gaze desperately, clutching him pleadingly.  “Who says that?”

“Who says half the shit the crowd said today?”  Salem snapped, having obviously reach the apex of his patience with what had happened.  Bailey flinched automatically, and Salem stilled before softening. He got to his feet, and Bailey glanced up through the curtain of his damp hair to watch.  Salem held out a hand, “ _Allons-y._ ”

Bailey took his hand even as he frowned, tensing, “Where are we going?”

“On a date.”

* * *

 

The last thing Bailey wanted to do was sit in a fancy restaurant—or even a shitty one—where someone would inevitably recognize him, and he’d spend the whole rest of the night feeling judged by the patrons and waitstaff and chef who’d never even seen him.

Salem, evidently, knew him well enough to know that as he’d driven them to the Louvre in the lime green Peugeot he’d stolen from Sebastian before he’d even come to the locker rooms to pry Bailey away and parked at the roundabout with strict instructions for him to wait in the car and seemingly no concern for the traffic raging around them.  He’d returned less than ten minutes later with a giant paper bag that had Bailey’s eyebrows drawing together and a narrow-eyed, pursed-lipped teenage girl in a uniform who barked something at him with disdain that only made Salem laugh.

He dropped the bag into the back as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Who was that?”  Bailey asked curiously, unaware Salem had friends beside Bas and Max in Paris.

“Ines Bonfils.  She’s Caroline and Bas’s cousin.  She works downstairs in the Carrousel du Louvre food court.”

“She got you your…stockpile?”  Bailey asked archly, closing his eyes to rest his pounding head against the window.

“Our dinner,” Salem replied sagely, navigating easily and with surprising familiarity through the streets.

Bailey peeked open an eye to study his boyfriend curiously. “Where are we going?”

“The Eiffel Tower.  It’s almost sunset.”

And didn’t that answer only dredge up more questions?

The feeling of complete and utter desolation and disgust that seemed to be metastasizing as a physical coating he couldn’t quite rid himself of rendered him listless enough not to press Salem further.  Instead, he closed his eyes and pressed his flushed forehead to the chilly pane of glass wishing someone would just invent teleportation so he could be home and away from this absolute hellhole.  Away from the expectations and the article about his shit playing that would no doubt make it’s rounds tomorrow.

When the car stopped, Bailey cracked his eyes open, surprised to find them parked on a cobblestone street only metres away from where the massive yet seemingly delicate steel structure rose up from the ground proudly. A warm yellow-orange glow had already come to life to illuminate the structure in its glory as the sun began to sink behind it, turning the sky into an arrangement of pinks, purples, greens, and blues.  Cars roared passed between where they’d parked just off the Trocadéro across from the tower.

Somehow despite being told where they were going, Bailey hadn’t quite believed they were actually going to the Eiffel Tower.

Salem tipped his head in a signal for him to get out as he reached back and grabbed the bag, exiting.

Bailey clambered out after him, scrambling around the car and onto the sidewalk where Salem waited, his head tilted and eyes on the Eiffel Tower. When Bailey reached him shyly, Salem smiled reassuringly and reached out to grip his hand, tugging him up a set of stairs to an empty patch of grass with the back to the busy gathering space behind them.

All he could hear was the rush of cars.  The low cacophony of hundreds of voices blending together. A steady crashing of water against the surface from the fountains to the side and backs.

They sat cross-legged on the grass, and Salem smirked at him and waggled his eyebrows, pulling out a fairly hefty brown bag.  “Chocolate truffles and macarons from La Maison du Chocolat.” He pulled out a small box carefully and opened them to reveal a two small cups and spoons full of Nutella. “This latte-macchiato thing that you stir with Nutella.  Amazing.” He tugged out three more small boxes with a cheeky grin.  “Artisan eclairs. Chocolate, Caramel, and Lemon. I’m very excited.”

Smiling weakly but with considerably more sincerity than he’d had since his match, Bailey shook his head.  “Did you actually get big-people food?”

“Of course,” Salem exclaimed, reaching into the bag to pull out two more take away containers, cracking it open to reveal a mouth-watering sight of warm, crispy bread, gooey cheese, and the scent of cooked meat. “Croque Monsieur.”

“A grilled cheese sandwich?”  Bailey half-smiled, taking it out of the container tentatively.

“With ham,” Salem nodded as Bailey frowned at it curiously. “Do not give me shit about your diet. Today you can break it as much as you want.”

“You say this because you don’t have to work with a team trainer tomorrow.”

“Correct,” Salem nodded.  Bailey shook his head but took a bit of the sandwich, moaning at how delicious and creamy it was. God help him, he loved salt…and calories…and cheese.  Maybe he should give up trying to change the world and just take up making YouTube cooking videos. He was more than capable of it. “Oh, and…” Salem reached into the bag excitedly and pulled out the orange carbonated beverage Bailey loved, “Orangina!”

Bailey smiled and hummed, taking the bottle and huffing it to his chest. “I love you.”

“You only say that because I’m feeding you.”

“Yes.”

“Well that’s alright then,” Salem told him.  They munched on dinner in silence together, shifting to their junk food and coffees when they’d finished the main thing, eventually shifting until Bailey had his head pillowed in Salem’s lap with his boyfriend’s fingers running through his hair as he dozed, the light bleeding from the sky in a brilliant display above them and the warm light from Paris’s most famous icon washing over his skin.  “Bailey, you can’t listen to them.  You’ll drive yourself crazy.”

“What if they’re right?”  Bailey whispered.  “About me. What if I shouldn’t be here anymore? I can quit and become a YouTuber.”

Salem snorted, tugging lightly on Bailey’s hair.  “Bullshit.  You’re the same person you were before this started.  The only difference is now they think they have a reason to hate you that isn’t that you’re ridiculously good a football.”

“Now I’m a target.  I can’t play with my head out of sorts like this.  What good am I if I can’t think?”

“So you’re just gonna quit?”

Bailey huffed out a painful laugh, swallowing the welling panic and anger. “You’re not listening. I was useless today. I was a target. I made my team a target. This affects more than just me.”

“Fuck them.”

His eyes cracked open as he stared up at Salem incredulously. “What?”

“Fuck. Them.  All of them.  Your team. Your club.  The league.  The UEFA. FIFA.  The world.  Everyone. Fuck everyone.” Bailey gaped at Salem’s casual comment, and he looked down at Bailey with anger and disappointment in his eyes. He wanted to shrink back from that look even though a part of him knew it wasn’t directed towards him. “It’s their fault. I mean, if you want to get technical it more complex than ‘you should have but you didn’t’ but they _should_ have and they _didn’t_.”

“And what good does that do me now?  I don’t know if I can handle being… _bullied_ everyday by _everyone_.”

Salem nodded in understanding.  “Here’s where we start: stop being so fucking nice.”

Bailey jerked upright, balking at Salem.  “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Screw your goddamn talking points and PR training.  And fuck the league and what you owe it for giving you a chance and your club for keeping you on when everyone was rooting for them to cut you. Right now, every major LGBTQIA rights organization in the world is behind you.  Call You Can Play and have them on your side. I know you want to go to the Olympics again, but they will or they won’t.  Playing nice won’t help you, and honestly, Arthur,” he reached out and cupped Bailey’s cheek.  “I’m far more concerned about your mental state than I am about your career.”

“So you think I should—what?  Go on radio and tv and print and call out everyone who’s being mean to me?” His tone dripped with mockery, and instead of anger, Salem narrowed his eyes.

“This isn’t middle school, Bailey.  I want—and Harry _wants_ —for you to call them out.  Be honest. Stop kowtowing around the truth. You can appeal to the Control, Ethics, and Disciplinary Body about what happened today.  Prejudice.  Crowd Disturbance.  Unfair ruling by the ref, though that one might be harder to prove.  Don’t whine.  Tell the truth. Most people who are anybody or under the age of twenty-four are on your side right now.  Harry and Alexander and Peter can call them out for their behavior. Hell, Caroline would if she thought you wanted her to.”

Bailey pulled back, trembling slightly as he shook his head frantically. “I don’t know if I can do that,” Bailey admitted.  “I play by the rules. I always have. I don’t…call out international organizations with long standing traditions.”

“Of homophobia?”  Salem replied.

“It’ll get better.”  Even to his own ears, Bailey sounded doubtful.

“Maybe.” He didn’t sound like he believed that either.

“Did it make you uncomfortable?”  Bailey asked suddenly, biting the inside of his cheek and peeking over at Salem. Salem who never pushed when it came to what Bailey wanted to do about dealing with his career and the consequences and actions that came with it.  Unwaveringly supportive.  Never pushy.

Salem swallowed and narrowed his eyes on the Eiffel Tower, unsettled. It took a moment, and Bailey nearly repeated the question before Salem forced out, “Yes.”

Bailey flinched, staring wide-eyed at his boyfriend.  “Sebastian and Bas?”

“Left early,” Salem told Bailey, still not looking at him.

“Why didn’t you?”

He turned to look at Bailey in a way that was answer enough and full of pain Bailey never wanted to see in his eyes.  Taking a deep breath, Bailey reached out and pulled Salem towards him, meeting his lips in a long kiss.  He tried to translate how much he loved him, how sorry he was that Salem had been hurt by what people had said, that he had to put up with this at all, whispering against his lips, “I’m so sorry.”

Salem’s hand came up to rest against Bailey’s neck, pressing their foreheads together.  “Not your fault, Bay.”

His eyes flickered open to meet Salem’s.  “I love you.”  Salem smiled, nodded, and pressed a quick kiss to his lips that turned into a longer one with a moan.  Bailey pulled back when they both needed air.  “I’ll call Harry and Caroline in the morning…” he hesitated, shifting his gaze to the ground. “And maybe a therapist.”

Salem was silent, and Bailey tensed, wondering if he should backtrack, laugh it off like a joke when Salem nodded.  “That sounds good.  Let me know, maybe I should go in too.”

“Really?” Bailey blinked up at him.

“Everyone needs therapy,” Salem told Bailey sincerely before his gaze shifted, and he grinned, wide, open, innocent.  “Look.”

Bailey turned and watched the Eiffel Tower light up, sparkling and flashing with light with the darkening sky and last light of sunset behind it, intertwined with the love of his life, and openly sitting the grass without worrying about being recognized and caught.

Things might not be good, but this was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 101 Dalmatian Vans actually exist :O
> 
> What can I say? I'm nostalgic, and I really enjoyed Paris. I mean let's be real, Paris is metrosexual central. I've never seen so many pretty men in one spot in my life, and I lived in New York City. But on the other hand, I know from experience sports fans are rabid. I went to a Penguins game in New York at MSG and the Rangers fucking won and this guy in his mid-to-late 20s turns to 16yr old me and talks shit. Pick on your own size. I mean, I enjoy sports but yeah some fans are absolutely crazy. Also, never go to Jersey Devils game if you route for the other team. It's just demoralising. 
> 
> I'm pretty sure you can't park you car in the roundabout between the Carrousel du Louvre and the Pyramids, get out of the car, and walk away to get food, but it was fun to write. The Pyramids at the Louvre are my favourite. I had one of the gourmet eclairs and a macchiato there. The nutella macchiato actually exists, but I didn't try it :( neither did I try a croque monsieur but that was because I don't like ham.
> 
> Real talk over here between my babies about homophobia in the league and how it affects more than the players. It was coming. The therapist thing was not. It's kind of unimportant, but I do believe it needed to be mentioned, because Bailey needs one. So does Salem probably but not as much as Bailey. Also the control, ethics whatever board exists and a club can actually be fined for those offences.
> 
> They're finally dating publicly so Salem took him on a first public date in Paris when he needed a hug. They're adorable.
> 
> Also if you only listen to one song I use as a title. Listen to this one. Alessia Cara is great.


	59. "Never Forget You" by MNEK and Zara Larsson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bailey gets the news, and the explanation, he's been waiting for.

To: [haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.co.uk](mailto:haroldbsterling@sterlingandireland.co.uk)

Cc: [kier.peter@londonsportsmgmt.org.uk](mailto:kier.peter@londonsportsmgmt.org.uk); [alexander.sullivan@thompsonhardwicke.org](mailto:alexander.sullivan@thompsonhardwicke.org)

From: [bonfils.caroline@arsenalfc.org.uk](mailto:bonfils.caroline@arsenalfc.org.uk)

Subject: RE: The Go Ahead

Good, it’s about time. The club would prefer not to get involved in what’s been going on but gay rights activists have been forcing their hand. The number of calls we’ve gotten from LGBTQ news agencies, gay rights agencies, You Can Play about what’s being done about his treatment on pitch is out of control. It got the attention of the Guardian and the New York Times as well. I’m glad he’s decided to handle this. I’ll be in touch.

Caroline Bonfils

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

I’ve decided on yoga.

 

**Irial Dorian (@DorianII)**

@Salem_Daiki I thought you’d decided on therapy?

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

She kicked me out for being too disruptive @DorianII so…yoga :/

 

**Arthur Bailey takes a stand against critics**

Arsenal’s Arthur Bailey has taken on a historic role as being, currently, the only openly gay professional footballer in the English Premier League and the UEFA. It’s come with it’s own set of challenges primarily in the form of blatant and brutal predjudice both on the field and in the stands. After weeks of enduring the abuse at what seemed to be a monumental cost the team’s ability to function, Bailey has quickly and publicly beat back both against critics and injustice. Arsenal filed a formal complaint with the UEFA disciplinary body for crowd disturbance, predjudice behavior, and discriminatory conduct by a match official in addition to submitting that racist behavior as outlines in the regulations occurred by various players and majority of the crowd itself. Under pressure from gay rights activist from across the world, the UEFA fined the official and the club. “It’s unacceptable that in 2019 we’re still even considering sexuality an issue,” Arsenal’s captain, Jorge Maldonado, spoke in a press conference. “This is football and that’s all it should be. I don’t blame Bailey’s sexuality as why we’ve been on a losing streak; I blame the way the situation is being handled by the league and the clubs. It’s discriminatory and outside the pitch, it’s actually a crime.” Bailey spoke for the first time on the issue saying at the same press conference, “I haven’t been playing my best, and I’m aware of that. I’m also aware that if the league and the fans want to make this about my sexuality than why are we talking about my ability to play during games where I’ve been verbally, physically, and emotionally abused? If it’s about my sexuality there’s no point in talking about my football because you don’t care, you just want an excuse to crucify me.” When asked why he chose so long to speak up about injustice on the field and if he’d be pursuing any other disciplinary action within the EPL, Bailey replied, “I wanted to think I could work through it, rise above it. That’s bullshit. It’s impossible especially when it’s not just me that this situation affects. It affects team morale. It affects the future of openly gay athletes in the future. It affects fans—my boyfriend’s close friends left the game in Paris half an hour in because they felt unsafe surrounded by such blatant homophobia. I’m not currently pursuing any action against another EPL player or club, but I’m not ruling it out as a future possibility. This behaviour needs to end, and if the only way that happens is by tattle-telling then that’s how it will be. You set the terms, not me.” Since then, the English Premier League issued a statement saying, “Any kind of discrimination will not be tolerated by the league whether or the pitch or in the stands, certainly not by players or officials. If we hear about it, there will be costly consequences. It’s time for us to move forward instead of taking fifty steps back.” Bailey’s boyfriend, CEO Konstantin Kimura-Petrov, refused to comment as did the English Football Association who have delayed releasing the official roster of the 2020 Olympic national team allegedly due to conflict over Bailey’s position in the squad that had been a forgone conclusion prior to be outed.

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

@Cris_Emerson going to a gay club sounds like a fabulously awful idea #notgonnahappen

 

**Cris Emerson (@Cris_Emerson)**

@ArthurBailey I’ll go over your head and ask the boss

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

@Cris_Emerson if there’s an article about mine and @Salem_Daiki sex life in the rags tomorrow I swear…

 

**Cris Emerson (@Cris_Emerson)**

@carey_me_home…you down :D

 

**Carey Ahearn (@carey_me_home)**

@Cris_Emerson @ArthurBailey yes! XD I need to call the wife. And the squad. Bring your band. And your hubby. And @Salem_Daiki better make an appearance

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

How did this get so out of our control @ArthurBailey?

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

@Salem_Daiki they’re YOUR friends! >.<

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

@ArthurBailey WHAT EVEN ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT????? #theyreyours #100percent

 

**Spotted: Arsenal hottie getting cozy with his ex-bestie/bf**

It’s been almost six weeks since Arsenal’s sexy young forward came out and confirmed his relationship with best friend and tech mogul, Konstantin Kimura-Petrov, but they haven’t been publicly seen together since. Last night the unfairly gorgeous pair stepped out of their Hampstead home to Heaven, one of London’s best gay clubs, accompanied by most of Bailey’s football squad including Carey Ahearn, his girlfriend Molly Sloan, Jorge Maldonado, Matthieu Augustin and a friend, Gino Accosi, Rafael Correa and his girlfriend Caroline Bonfils, and former squad captain Bakar Bengochea and his wife Alisa. Also on the star-studded guest list was the entirety of Breaking Fourth, including the delicious couple that is Cris Emerson and his husband, radio DJ, Irial Dorian Grayson, model Kanani Kapuana and her girlfriend Catriona Buchanan, and, according to rumors but not sighted, numerous others including most of Azadi, Charlie Beck, Patrick Gallagher, Penney Dear, Soren Reid, Ani Tiernan, and Maverick. Of course, those can’t be confirmed, but all in all sexy squad goals for the win, but can we please have some more pictures of drunk Bailey with his tongue down his half-naked boyfriend’s throat? I just feel like I need that in my life.

 

**Text message to Bailey**

**Izumi:** Lol you idiots made the news!

 **Izumi:** It’s a gossip mag.

 **Izumi:** I sent a pic to Michi, my parents, Tasha, and your bro.

 **Bailey:** It’s too early for this. I’m dying.

 **Izumi:** Hahahahahaha you have practice in an hour

 **Bailey:** Motherfuck! Thank you! I might actually kill Salem.

 **Bailey:** Nvm not his fault. He’s vomiting up his intestines in the toilet.

 **Izumi:** Tmi

 

**Former Daiki Company employee sued by CEO**

The Daiki Company’s had very little scandal aside from its CEO’s arrest and questioning by Interpol on international cyber crimes, but it’s reportedly found another when CEO Konstantin Kimura-Daiki publicly announced his personal assistant and childhood friend, Georgia Hanson, would be sued by the company, by him, and by his boyfriend and Arsenal footballer, Arthur Bailey, for breach of confidence, breach of privacy, data breach, and theft. It was announced that the company had evidence that Georgia stole photos from Kanani Kapuana and the CEO himself of him and Arthur Bailey in a compromising position that she then sold to the journalist and publication that outed the famed footballer. “What she took wasn’t hers to take, hers to sell, hers to share. She was our friend. We all trusted her, and she used that trust to steal from us and sell it to the highest bidder for profit. It’s not something I will ever condone nor will I allow her to walk away from this without facing the consequences of her decision,” Kimura-Petrov announced during a press conference. It was also confirmed he and Arthur Bailey would be suing  _The Sun_ on similar grounds.

* * *

When Bailey actually had full days off it meant someone somewhere had probably sacrificed their mother, father, and favorite pet on the alter of some pagan god, which inevitably led to the squad taking them quite seriously.

Last he’d heard, Molly and Carey had taken Alana to Cornwall for some sightseeing, Jorge and Alejandra had gone to party with one of Alejandro’s lady-friends in Bristol.  Gino had flown his fathers over from Italy to spend the day with them and his current girlfriend in central London.  And Matthieu had decided to actively woo his personal chef with undisguised affection by taking him to Oxford for the day.

Bailey had managed to abduct his boyfriend from his office with a well-placed bribe to the new receptionist—who looked barely a day over eighteen and supposedly went to university part-time for drama—and a dazzling smile at Adrienne Montgomery, who’d taken up Georgia’s job after she’d been fired and simultaneously publicly sued by him, Salem, and the company for a number of offenses. Adrienne had pursed her lips at Bailey promptly declared, “This better be good.  Harley and Nihal will have my arse for this, yeah?”

“He’s mine anyway, tell ‘em that,” Bailey had laughed before walking into the office, plucking a disassembled mobile phone out of his fingers, and leaning over the table to claim his lips in a long kiss.  “We’re going somewhere.”

For as much a workaholic as Salem was, when Bailey called he answered, and he always took the time off if Bailey needed him.  Half the time, it made him feel guilty since he genuinely couldn’t reciprocate that kind of anywhere, anytime approach to their relationship, but the other half of the time, Bailey was too busy fonding over his boyfriend to bother with guilt.

Charlotte Rebecca Harboune’s property rested nearly fifty miles away from their Hampstead house in a mammoth red brick Victorian manor on 212 acres in Surrey that made Bailey’s million dollar mansion in London look like a tiny one-bedroom cottage.  According to Charlie, the house had once belonged to a lord and his wife up until he’d lost it during the industrial revolution to the Harbourne family who owned and operated a shipping company.  The rest of the story had fallen to the wayside when Max had archly asked if this shipping company transported slaves.  Charlie had eyed him with irritation while Bas and Salem had smothered laughter up; Chaz had flipped Max off and stolen his whiskey sour just to make a point.

Wichapi’s stall in the stables was triple the size of what it had been back in South Dakota and almost as large as the whole of their backyard.  The mare was treated like a queen, groomed every day, and had access to fields and fields of emerald green grass that stretched thick and lush for acres. Her favorite activity thus far had proven to be torturing the stablemaster’s border collie, Moira, who was both fascinated and terrified of her, something the mare had picked up on and exploited to no end.

It had become Bailey’s favorite pastime to make the ninety-minute drive to Surrey whenever he had time or simply after a rough day, not always to ride but sometimes to just sit on the lacquered wood of the dutch stall door and stroke the mare’s neck as she rested her muzzle on his outstretched legs while the sounds of the stablemaster’s Chopin musical collection and occasionaly the soft tapping of Salem’s fingers over his laptop.  Salem had been kind enough to indulge him when he’d steered them out of the central city and into the outskirts of Greater London, nt arguing besides pointing out he wasn’t dressed for horseback riding.

Bailey had brought him a pair of faded blue jeans and an old t-shirt for the occasion.

Salem had relented.

With a gentle tug on the reins, Bailey slowed Wichapi to a brisk walk as she tossed her head and danced anxiously at the crest of the hill.  “Easy,” Bailey patted her neck and peered through the break in the trees at the massive, sprawling brick estate with its artful, classic back garden and azure pond.  He heard a shutter from behind him and glanced back in time for Salem to snap a picture of him head on as he urged Charlie’s dappled gray polo pony, Apollo, into a canter.

Bailey groaned and shook his head while Salem barked out a laugh and pulled up beside him, the tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he smiled.

“God, must you?” Bailey pouted.

Salem giggled, “Yes!”

“Why?” He wined.

Smirking, he reached out to gently cuff Bailey’s cheek with the back of his hand. “Because you’re adorable.”

“That’s not going to end up on Instagram, is it?”

“Much more likely on Snapchat,” Salem retorted.  Bailey shot him a droll look, and Salem smiled impishly. “I’m kidding, but it might end up as my background for a little while, _lyubimiy_.”

“You’re such an arsehole,” Bailey pushed his hand away, sticking out his tongue and urging Wichapi into a flat gallop back to the stables, her head tossing happily as he loosened his grip on the reins and gave her free range to do as run as she desired.

Salem’s whoop of joy came from behind him, and Bailey glanced back to see the quick-footed horse racing after him and Wichapi while Salem somehow managed to lounge on horseback, his head tilted back and a wide smile on his face. Bailey’s eyes trailed from the rapturous look on his boyfriend’s upturned face and down the column of his throat still darkened with a lovebite from the previous evening; Bailey smiled softly at him, wishing he could capture that look, that expression, that light reflected on his olive skin.

Beautiful.

Bailey knew he was blessed to have him, to have someone in his life that loved him despite everything and stayed by his side through things that had left _Bailey_ wanting to run away. And Salem had stayed when he didn’t have to, could have walked away, could have run.

Bailey loved him all the more for it.

“Pay attention, Bay!” Salem called out as he pointed.

His head whirled back to the front where the fence between paddocks loomed in front of them, half a meter to left of where the open gate connected the two paddocks, and Wichapi racing with the same undeterred pace, utterly unconcerned with the immoveable object in front of them.  Bailey sighed and shook his head at his wayward mare, crouching low, moving his hands halfway up her neck, and eyes focused straight ahead as he squeezed his legs around her girth.

 _Three, two, one,_ he counted down in his head.

From the moment her body went airborn, Bailey’s heart soared, and he felt weightless, half-smiling briefly before her hooves hit the ground. He reined her gently; leg pressing into her side as he walked her in a small circle and tried to calm her down.

Salem and Apollo trotted through the open gate.  Narrowing his eyes, Salem crossed his arms over his chest. “Ooh, so lame to use the door.”

“Rather boring, I say,” Bailey sniffed, nudging the mare back towards the stables and sidling up beside Apollo who tensed as she bumped her head against the gelding cheerfully.  “She’s a bit temperamental.”

“And you’re a bit lost in La La Land.  I know I’m gorgeous but can we not try that again?”

Bailey grinned as they walked side-by-side out of the paddock and up the drive to the stables. U-shaped and the same red brick as the house around a square sand courtyard with a washrack, tackroom, and office for the stablemaster.  Reaching over, Bailey plucked the mobile phone out of Salem’s hand as he pressed a kiss to his cheek and swung out of the saddle, hitting the soft ground beneath with both feet.

Salem huffed, and Bailey fought a grin at the sound, running up his stirrups as the sound of feet hitting the sand with a quiet thud.

“Yo,” Salem called out, reaching beneath Wichapi’s neck to hand Bailey his mare’s red halter.  Bailey switched the bridle and halter, tying the attached leadrope to the fence and watching Salem do the same as he hummed quietly, gently stroking Apollo’s furry head with a softspoken affection usually reserved for when they were tangled beneath their sheets in the early hours of the morning talking about nothing or not talking at all as they laid together and breathed each other in.

Bailey peered over Wichapi’s back at Salem’s gentle ministrations as he pulled the saddle off of her back.

“You didn’t tell me you loved riding this much.  I feel cheated on.  Should I give you and Apollo a moment?”

Salem beamed over his shoulder at Bailey.  “Of course not, I’d never prioritized my mistress over my husband. Don’t worry, darling, no matter what I’ve told him I won’t leave you.”

“Fuck off!” Bailey laughed, and Salem stuck his tongue out at him. “Why didn’t you ever get a horse?”

Laughing, Salem reached down and turned to hard-brush the gelding that leaned into Salem with a familiarity and trust that spoke to a long-standing if irregular relationship between the pair.  “Me? Own a horse?  No,” Salem shook his head, quirking an eyebrow as he peered out over the curve of Apollo’s back.  “I love horses, but I love tinkering more.  Same reason I’m a no to kids.  I’m neglectful.”

Ducking beneath his horse, Bailey leaned against the fence railing between the two horses and grinning cheekily at his boyfriend.  “You don’t need to tell _me_ that. Don’t I know.”

Salem scoffed and came over to lean into Bailey who wrapped his arms around Salem’s neck and rubbing his gloved fingers into the base of Salem’s skull. He leaned forward and pressed their lips together, smiling into it as his mouth opened up Salem’s, their tongues tangling together as Salem’s body pressed more firmly against his.  Salem pulled back, his eyes slightly dazed with lust and his lips quirked in a dangerous smirk as he said low and teasingly, “Well, since I’m so neglectful then I guess tonight instead of fisting you until you’re begging for my cock I’ll just go to work, play around with the techies.  I mean you’re used to it, right?  Since I’m so neglectful.”

“Fucking hell,” Bailey moaned and pressed himself more firmly against Salem’s body. “You better not. I might actually kill you.”

Salem laughed and leaned forward for another lengthy kiss.  “Do you really think it’s wise for me to spend half the night with my hand up your ass before—” Salem tensed and leapt back while Bailey balked at him.  Salem’s eyes stared wide-eyed over Bailey’s shoulder.  “Mr. Bailey!”

Bailey’s eyes went as wide as he whirled around to see his father standing awkwardly behind them with his hands in the pocket of his trench coat and a plaid scarf. It had been years since Bailey had seen his father in anything that mildly resembled casual, let alone anything that had to do with Bailey outside of familial obligation.

“How did you…?”  He started uncomfortably.

“Your brother told me.  He saw it on Instagram.” His father said, looking between Bailey and Salem awkwardly.

Bailey clenched his jaw and turned.  “Salem!”

“Okay! Apollo needs to be turned out, I think. Don’t you _milaya_?” Salem said hastily, untying the leadrope with a single tug and leading the gelding from the courtyard to the paddock, effectively leaving Bailey alone with his father.

James nodded.  “I like that one.”

His head whipped around, lips pursed as he glared at his father. “What are you doing here?”

Sighing, James tugged at the sleeves of his coat, pointedly avoiding eye contact. Bailey swallowed and clenched his jaw, leaning against Wichapi who tossed her head and stamped her hoof but didn’t move away from him.  James straighted his tie and leaned against the railing, ducking his head and seeming to contemplate what he wanted to say painfully and carefully.  Salem climbed the fence, halting when he caught sight of them and realizing that they hadn’t talked; he threw the halter over his shoulder and sat on the fence, content to watch and wait, his expression demonstrating how miffed he was that he didn’t have his mobile to play with.

Bailey shook his head and forced a smile, running a shaking hand through his hair. “How’s your campaign going? What with my admission. You haven’t said anything, and I’m sure they asked.”  It wasn’t quite an accusation entirely, but it could have been.  Nearly was except he’d managed to keep his tone carefully blasé.

“I’m not here to talk about my campaign, Arthur.”

Bailey flinched. “Oh?”

James sighed and deflated, his shoulders drooping.  He seemed more uncomfortable with making Bailey flinch than he had been overhearing about his sex life.  “I’m not…doing this right.  I wanted…” he tensed and stilled before taking a deep breath and drawing back his shoulders. His eyes flitted up to meet Bailey’s before nodding once decisively.  “Your mother and I made a lot of mistakes with you and your siblings. I know that.”

“Is this where you tell me you’re sorry?” Bailey asked derisively, bitterly.

“Would there be any point?”  James returned, and Bailey crooked an eyebrow but didn’t disagree.  “No, no, I’m not proud of what happened.  I’m not happy with the way you and your siblings were raised. However, I am…proud of you.” Bailey startled and jerked back, stilling abruptly when Wipachi tossed her head in agitation and glanced back at him; reaching out automatically, Bailey gripped her halter and stroked a finger along the ridge of her muzzle and stepped forward as she nudged him comfortingly. James smiled weakly. “Didn’t expect that, did you?”

“No,” Bailey admitted.

“Of all my children, you’re the only one who didn’t do what was expected of you. It’s…not helpful in terms of my own career and choices, but it certainly is…something I…you stand entirely on your own two feet.  You are not who we raised you to be, and I rather think that’s for the best.”

For a time, Bailey stood and gaped at his father, unsure what to say, if he’d heard right.  They were almost utterly what he’d wanted to hear from his mother but hadn’t.  He remembered her telling him that his father loved him more than she ever could, but he hadn’t believed it, not of the man who’d spent his life being colder and more distant than his mother, not of the hardened political animal who saw more of his constituents children and mistresses family than he ever had of his own.

“Your grandfather—my dad—he was gay,” James confessed, and Bailey’s mouth dropped open.

“Grandad? _My_ granddad?  Arthur?”

“I was nine when I walked in on him and our family butler, Daniel, which was too young to understand and old enough to still ask my mother for clarification. So I did.  The household was never quite the same after that. They spent nearly a month arguing, but in the end, Daniel remained on until he died, you remember my father passing only days afterwards, and my mother, well, they shared a room everyday hence that he was home and she had her fair share of…friends.”

“That why you hated me?  Your father’s ‘predilection’ ruined your childhood?”  Bailey barked out with a condescending, hurt lilt to his voice.

James sighed and glanced over at Salem who sat on the fence railing, stroking the head of the chestnut Thoroughbred who’d come to visit him. His eyes went back to Bailey. “I loved my father. I loved Daniel too. He was…family, but, yes, they destroyed my childhood and my family, and…for all this talk of how I ruined your mother, Susannah was always the woman she was.   Cold.  Selfish. Judgemental.  She wanted more than a simple life in South Dakota. She wanted me. And I wanted…power, part of that meant I wanted a traditional family to wave in front of the cameras. Your being gay didn’t factor into that. It brought back awful memories, and it pissed your mother off, frankly.”

Cocking his head and narrowing his eyes, James half-smiled, “It’s odd how prejudiced Susannah was for where she grew up and what he family was like, but I suspect it was less than prejudice and more…she had a picture in her mind and didn’t want to let it go even when it was clear three picture perfect children wouldn’t keep everything neatly packaged the way she’d planned. I wanted kids. I wasn’t ready for them, but I did want them, love them, loved you.  I regret the way we raised you—”

“Don’t,” Bailey interrupted shortly.  James stopped, eyebrows rising in surprise.  “Don’t,” he said, softer, “I had a good childhood.  It wasn’t the childhood most people have, and it wasn’t with my family, but boarding school was what I needed, and it got me where I am.” They stared at each other for a moment, the tension bleeding at a snail’s pace from the air. Releasing a quiet breath, Bailey tipped his chin up.  “Did you love her? Mum, did you love her?”

James took in a long, jagged breath as his eyes shifted towards the sky and closed slowly, painfully.  He huffed out a breathless laugh.  “Do you love him?”

Bailey tensed reflexively before forcibly calming himself.  “Yes.”

“Does he love you?”

His eyes drifted to Salem who looked back at him and cocked his head, raising his eyebrows in wordless question if he needed help.  Bailey nodded to Wichapi once with a pleading expression, and Salem rolled his eyes but complied, hopping down from the fence and making his way over.  Bailey turned back to his father and admitted decidedly, “Yes.”

“I thought I loved Susannh,” James admitted.  “I did, really, when we were both younger, but life happened. I had a career to nurse, _wanted_ to nurse, and Susannah, for all she wanted to be out of South Dakota, wasn’t suited to a life all about me and my career. She had children to trap me. I stayed away for all of you for that reason. I cared about her, adored her, but I’d stopped loving her a long time ago, Bailey, and I think you know that.”

Salem ducked between them, plucking the leadline off the railing and smiling uncertainly at the pair of them before leading the irritated mare away to the paddock. James and Bailey watched him go with Bailey peeking over at James’s stern expression every few minutes.

“I thought you’d break _his_ heart,” James admitted, and Bailey turned his attention to him. “That you were like me, more concerned with your career than with the person who loved you more than anything. You proved me wrong. I’m proud of you, son. I hear you even went to see a therapist. His idea or yours?”

Bailey blinked back tears and nodded.  “Mine. I think I needed to.”

“Everything okay?”

Salem’s voice jolted him out of his daze, and he turned to Salem, nodding even as his face changed and he stepped forward to cup Bailey’s cheek and wipe a tear from his eye.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, really,” Bailey promised, nodding in Salem’s hold. He seemed unconvinced but nodded, pressing a quick kiss to his lips that had Bailey blushing as he glanced sideways at his bemused father.

“Bailey!”

Everyone turned to see Peter Kier running with a wide smile from the main house.

“Fucking hell,” Salem muttered as he rested his arm and chin on Bailey’s shoulder to watch Peter run, “what is this Grand Central Station?”

Bailey bit back a laugh and looked at Salem over his shoulder.

Peter stopped beside his father, practically wheezing from his hyperventilation. He huffed and opened his mouth to talk, doing a double take when he noticed his father’s presence. “Oh.  Hi.  James.”

“Peter,” James nodded, amused.

“Right,” Peter continued as he turned back towards Bailey with a wide smile that only seemed to grow.  “You’re gonna be fine, Bailey.”  Bailey stilled and frowned.

“What?”

Peter nodded his head, eyes darting to Salem whose mouth dropped open in surprise, and he reached into the pocket of Bailey’s breeches for his mobile, before they went back to Bailey.  He remained confused, and Peter’s smile grew broader as tears began to leak from his eyes.

“Oh my God,” Salem said, his eyes shifting up to Peter.

“They released the national team roster, Bailey.”  Peter told him, “You’re going to the Olympics, kid.”

Bailey’s hands went to his face, as he fought to control his breathing, tears leaking from his eyes as he fell to the ground, unable to hold himself up. Salem caught him, and Bailey latched onto his shirt and pressed his face him his collarbone.  Tears leaked from his eyes silently.  “I’m going to be okay.”

Salem laughed and pressed a kiss to his forehead, running a hand through his hair. “Yes.”

“I’m going to play international football at the Olympics again.”

He pressed another kiss to the top of Bailey’s head.  “Yes.”

Bailey smiled and laughed wetly, looking up at Salem through tear-filled eyes. “I never thought I could have everything I wanted.”

Salem’s gaze met his, and he smiled softly, cupping Bailey’s face in his hands. He nodded and told him firmly, “I’m gonna make sure you do.”  Bailey sobbed and pulled Salem closer, wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss.  Their foreheads pressed together, eyes meeting as they smiled at each other.

“Thank you,” Bailey whispered quietly, “for loving me and staying with me through everything.”

“See, this is what Dr. Seul meant about open lines of communication.”

Bailey pinched Salem’s side, laughing as they kissed again.  The happiness and contentment that flooded through Bailey, incapable of being contained as all the weeks of pent up fear, anxiety, and hopelessness, a rollercoaster of emotions that teetered between acceptance and defeat.

“For all that, you better tell me you love me,” Bailey told him.

“Why? You already know that,” Salem teased, pecking his lips.

Bailey pulled back and mock-glared.  “Konstantin.”

“Arthur,” Salem grinned and skimmed his thumb over his cheekbone, smile softening as he whispered, “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James and Bailey needed some resolution. He's not that big of an asshole...just a little bit, and I feel like that needed to be expressed.
> 
> Also, yeah, Bailey's back on the national squad and going to Tokyo. I mean, let's be honest here I'm a sucker for happy endings, and after some 200,000-ish words, he wasn't not going to end up on the squad with one chapter left just like I wouldn't get to this point and go 'psyche' they're not really getting together. That's just mean. I've read fanfiction like that it kind of makes me want to kill someone. It's even worse when they get me invested in their lives and kill them off and/or leave an open ambiguous ending. If I stuck it out this long like bitch better have my money...or HEA. Yeah. Seriously
> 
> One more chapter! Oh my God, what a rollercoaster. I'm ready. Are you ready? Who am I kidding? No one's ready.


	60. "XO" by Beyonce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We've come full circle

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

Congratulations to my @ArthurBailey for making the national team #2020Olympics #backtojapan #seeyouthere

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

@Salem_Daiki I still cant breathe. I’m going to start sobbing like a child s2g

 

**Bakar Bengochea @Bakar04Basque)**

@ArthurBailey knew you could do it Bay! #yougotthis #rightcall #2020Olympics

 

**Cris Emerson (@Cris_Emerson)**

@DorianII I’m still waiting for the #lovewins from you babe

 

**Irial Dorian (@DorianII)**

@Cris_Emerson thanks for the reminder my love @ArthurBailey @Salem_Daiki #lovewins #thataboybritain

 

**MP James Bailey says ‘Britain’s taken a step forward’**

Labour Party MP, James Bailey, is in the centre of a big bid for Prime Minister, but it’s his son not his politics everone wants to talk about. The politician’s estranged son and Arsenal star forward, Arthur Bailey, has recently been in the midst of a scandal when he was publicly outed as both a homosexual and in a serious relationship with his best friend and tech mogul, Konstantin Kimura-Petrov. In recent history the family has publicly had their differences, refusing to speak to each other during most of the MP’s late wife, Susannah’s, fight against pancreatic cancer, and according to sources have had almost no contact since Bailey signed with Arsenal FC in 2014.  Despite the family rift, Bailey has issued a statement regarding his son following the long-delayed public release by the Football Association confirming the footballer’s place in the national squad for the upcoming 2020 Tokyo Olympics. “I think most people were skeptical not only of my son’s place on the national squad but also of his ability to maintain his career in the face of being an openly gay footballer. This is the twenty-first century. This is Europe. We need to unite as a society and step forward to eradicate discrimination. We live in a society determined to move forward, and we can’t do that with allowing people to publicly and openly be who they are, _especially_ in sports. We need to start from the ground up. The UEFA’s ruling, the EPL’s decision to harshen the severity of punishment on discrimination, and the national team’s decision to keep an openly gay footballer on the national squad are just demonstrations of this movement. Britain has taken a step forward.” The statement stunned a huge number of the country’s citizens and increased popular support for Bailey’s bid for Prime Minister. Arthur Bailey responded to that news by stating in a press conference, “My father wasn’t the best father, but he’s always been a good politician. We’re working on our relationship, but it doesn’t surprise me that people are so supportive of him.” It seems like familiar relations are looking up.

 

**Text message to Harry**

**Bailey:** Thnk u 4 evrythng

 **Bailey:** I dnt think ny of this could have hppnd w/o u

 **Harry:** I appreciate the sentiment.

 **Harry:** But I’m not going anywhere?

 **Harry:** Salem invited me to dinner tomorrow?

 **Bailey:** I kno :P

 **Bailey:** Im thnkng u professionally.

 **Bailey:** R u thnking prawns or miso soup for dinner?

 **Harry:** Your boyfriend mentioned Pizza Express

 **Bailey:** Fucking hell

 

**Tal Roland (@TalRoland)**

@ArthurBailey got my kids to eat veg and enjoy it ^.^ best dinner party ever!

 

**Benedikt Roland (@Bennyboy9)**

@TalRoland you say what? Best what? So much fucking veg man! @carey_me_home @Rafa86 @Jorge87Official @Salem_Daiki right???

 

**Carey Ahearn (@carey_me_home)**

@Bennyboy9 I feel your pain. Molls and Alana made me stop at KFC after #realtalk

 

**Rafael Correa (@Rafa86)**

@Bennyboy9 let’s not talk about it @Gino_Accosi @Lyon_Matthieu took me away and made us carbonara #realfoodyo

 

**Jorge Maldonado (@Jorge87Official)**

@Bennyboy9 @Bakar04Basque wouldn’t cook for me or pick up food for me 

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

@Bennyboy9 @carey_me_home @Rafa86 @Jorge87Official now you know how I feel all the time!

 

**Kimura Izumi (@Izumiii3)**

@Salem_Daiki yeah? Imagine my life!

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

@Izumiii3 yes you who went out to Crème de la Crepe in Covent Garden to eat with friends #hardlife #kidsthesedays

 

**Text message to Salem**

**Bailey:** Try 2 rmbr we have dinner w my fam in 1hr

 **Salem:** Including Katie?

 **Bailey:** Dnt rmnd me.

 **Bailey:** Jamie and Rhi will be there

 **Salem:** And Katie and Tom.

 **Bailey:** And Katya and Izumi

 **Salem:** Shut up! You flew my babushka out here????

 **Bailey:** ;) <3

 

**Tasha Petrovna (@Mama_Petrovna)**

Christmas dinner with the fam! Arm candy Damien @ArthurBailey @Salem_Daiki @Izumiii3 @FatherMax @prettyboyBas @Kimura_Michi @KatsuDoku @Kanani_Pahala @Kitty_Catriona

 

**Charles Beck (@CharlieBeck)**

@ArthurBailey you’re a better rider than I thought!

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

@CharlieBeck @ArthurBailey hahahahahaha I’m dead

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

Sigh, that’ll make headlines tomorrow.

 

**Charles Beck (@CharlieBeck)**

@ArthurBailey @Salem_Daiki omfg on horseback! Horseback riding! No other kind. Christ dirty minds.

 

**The Daiki Company (@TheDaikiCo.)**

Check out the new stores opening in Manchester, Edinburgh, Sheffield, Bristol, Dublin, Liverpool, Paris, Birmingham, Berlin, and Brussels today

 

**Arsenal kicks homophobia’s butt**

Arsenal’s been stellar both in the English Premier League and the UEFA since the November ruling against discriminatory behavior that issued a widespread crackdown on players, officials, and crowd behavior. The team won their last six EPL games in a winning streak that began in mid-November and hasn’t slowed since. Taking it a step further, Arsenal forward, Arthur Bailey, has proved exceptional when it comes to playmaking and goal-scoring, coming out of his slump with several high-octane performances despite having begun practices with the English national squad for the upcoming Tokyo Olympic games. It was the team’s latest match against Zenit St. Petersburg where they faced unpoliced discrimination from the crowd and city as well as a good deal from the players until the match officials got ahold of the problem. Unlike earlier this season, the discrimination only seemed to urge Arsenal into action with the squad beating Zenit St. Petersburg for a spot in the 2nd Qualifying Round 11-1 with forward Arthur Bailey scoring a whooping five of those goals and helping make another five happen. And while its undoubted that some people will say that this match proved nothing to be about beating homophobia at its heart, I’d just like to point, as a lesbian football fan watching this, that it’s about as satisfying to an openly gay player on a supportive squad annihilating St. Petersburg in their own amid rampant homophobia as I imagine it was for the African-American community to see Jesse Owens win Olympic gold in Nazi Germany. Get it done.

 **Comment from ArthurBailey:** This might actually be the best thing I’ve read all day XD I’m glad you feel so satisfied and passionate about this. Me too. But I had to win. My boyfriend’s grandmother came down to watch us play from Nizhiy Novgorod. She despises St. Petersburg. Might have actually killed me if we lost to them.

 **Reply from Jesy.Thompkins:** Omfg!!!! Hi! Thank you! You’re such an inspiration for the LGBTQ community just thank you so much. Your boyfriend’s grandmother sounds awesome btw.

 **Reply from ArthurBailey:** Honestly, Katya is terrifying and lovely all at once. Just as Salem.

 

**Text message to Cameron**

**Bailey:** Guess who’s coming to see me play in Tokyo?

 **Cameron:** :DDDDDD

 **Bailey:** My grandparents!

 **Cameron:** :( why you tease like that? Mean! Rude! Rude meany rude!

 **Bailey:** Hahahahaha jk

 **Bailey:** Well not rly

 **Bailey:** I did ask ur mum

 **Cameron:** OMFG WHAT DID SHE SAY?

 **Bailey:** That since you worked so hard this year it wouldn’t be out of the question.

 **Cameron:** asdjkeindndiofjrjfdn!

 **Bailey:** Yeah yeah u’ll b styng with the husband, his mum and grandmum

 **Cameron:** I’m going to Tokyo!!!!!!!

 

**Arsenal’s Arthur Bailey gives back!**

We can’t get enough of the footballer whose spent the past year coming out, coming into his own, and becoming quite sassy in a dry why when it comes to dealing with the press as opposed to his boyfriend and tech mogul, Konstantin Kimura-Petrov. While the elusive businessman only seen in public with his glamorous friends or taking his footballer boyfriend on dates, has spent the last six months nurturing his company in the makings of a Fortune 500 conglomerate, Bailey has been out and about winning the heart of the people like it’s he and not his MP father, James Bailey, campaigning for Prime Minister. Most recently, the footballer volunteered his time with Riding for the Disabled Association, RDA, to help teach young, disabled children and adolescence how to horseback ride at the home of famed British couture designer, Charlotte Rebecca Harbourne. Her son, actor Charlie Beck, even made an appearance with some of his castmates as did Bailey’s longtime friend and supermodel, Kanani Kapuana, whose photographer girlfriend, Catriona Buchanan, volunteered to take pictures of the children at the event for their families. The Daiki Company donated roughly £10,000 to the organization and publicly showed their support by coming down to provide games and music while Kimura-Petrov reportedly got recruited to help teach. All in all, the world needs more of this adorable couple, and we wish them all the best, even ig its just so we can get more pictures of them being adorable with children and horses.

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

The bae’s flying out to Tokyo without me

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

@Salem_Daiki lol freedom!

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

@ArthurBailey if that’s the way it is…@Cris_Emerson @CharlieBeck @DorianII @rosieposie @HarryBSterling @StPatty_ shadow lounge 2nite? :P

 

**Irial Dorian (@DorianII)**

Yes! Absolutely yes! Sign me up for the next war!

 

**Cris Emerson (@Cris_Emerson)**

@DorianII Mulan! I got that one! @Salem_Daiki for real? Yessssss

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

@Salem_Daiki that’s so rude you know I want to go there!

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

@ArthurBailey I’m sorry I can’t hear you over the sound of my upcoming night of freedom

 

**Arthur Bailey (@ArthurBailey)**

@Salem_Daiki I see you Konstantin #notimpressed

 

**Text message to Bailey**

**Salem:** Save me. Our families are bonding

 **Salem:** I’m being asked about marriage again.

 **Bailey:** All Im doing is fielding the press

 **Salem:** sigh I’ll have to take this one on my own.

 **Bailey:** I think so

 **Salem:** Cameron asked me about anal sex

 **Bailey:** WHAT EVEN DID U HAVE THE AUDACITY TO TELL HIM?????

 **Salem:** Nice use of SAT words!

 **Bailey:** -_-

 **Salem:** I told him condoms, liberal amounts of lube, condoms, liberal amounts of prep, condoms, RedTube, and did I mention condoms?

 **Bailey:** When’s the lst tme u used a condom?

 **Salem:** I’m not a 16yr old boy having sex with my first bf douchenozzle.

 **Bailey:** Just me.

 **Salem:** Well you and my lover from Switzerland.

 **Bailey:** Switzerland?

 **Salem:** He’s a swiss chocolatier

 **Bailey:** Next time u c him tell him the least he cld do it give me some chocolate since hes screwing my husband

 **Salem:** Lol babes I’ll pass along the message.

 **Bailey:** I miss you.

 **Salem:** I’ll see you soon. 3dys. I love you.

* * *

“How they doing?” Kanani asked she dropped back in her seat, cradling a pop of rainbow Nerds that Salem hadn’t even known Japan sold.

           

“Not as well as they could be,” Cameron answered before Salem could, sitting on the very edge of his seat and gnawing on his fingernails. The kid’s eyes never once left the game playing out in front of him. “But they’re not completely terrible.”

           

“Comforting,” Kanani remarked while Salem leaned around Cameron to shoot her an amused look. She rolled her eyes fondly and plopped down in Catriona’s lap, ignoring her girlfriend’s squawk of annoyance.

           

Michi leaned forward and propped his chin on Salem’s shoulder. “Spain’s going to win gold.”

           

Catriona, Cameron, and Irial hushed him viciously, and Michi leaned back and held up his hands with a faux innocent expression that convinced no one, certainly not Katya who thwacked him on the back of his head with the rolled up lifestyle magazine clutched in her hand. Michi winced and rubbed the back of his head while Tasha poured her mother another glanced of wine and glared at Michi.

           

“Try to keep the negativity to a minimum,” Tasha instructed him. “There’s still…”

           

“Fifteen minutes,” Damien interjected offhandedly, eyes tracking the movement on field.

           

“Fifteen minutes,” Tasha nodded primly, “until the game’s over. That’s plenty of time to turn it around.”

           

Michi seemed unsure about that but wisely chose not to respond, especially not when Katsu flicked him and shook his head, Izumi sending her brother an evil look from around her parent’s.

           

Izumi had finished her first year of university with unequivocal success and an internship to Google that she couldn’t possibly pass up. She’d be flying from Tokyo to California as soon as the closing ceremonies were over, and her parents had never been prouder. Salem hadn’t told them yet, but if she continued the upward momentum she was going on, he’d leave her the company for when he retired. He’d mentioned it to Hikari and his father, though, and Hikari had actually teared up when he’d told them offhandedly at the dinner they’d had at the family home days ago. It was the first and only time she’d ever demonstrated anything resembling emotion, but Hikari had wrapped him tightly in a hug with tears on her cheeks and thanked him profusely.

           

It had been a strange month.

           

Between the pair of them, Salem and Bailey had effectively managed almost every combination of meet the family that could happen, but Salem hadn’t realized just how intertwined their families had become until Katya had walked in the door to Hikari and Ryu’s home with a flourish, greeting both of them with a kiss and immediately stealing Virginia to talk about _The Martian_ , which they’d apparently both read for some makeshift, international book club. John had offered Tasha a hug when she’d appeared with Damien before the two men had devolved into a conversation about economics and politics that Salem had given a wide berth, and Tasha had abandoned to have Sake with Rhinannon. Topher and Alice, Rhiannon and Jamie’s kids, had been sprawled across the floor, drawing with Michi while Katsu watched from the couch amused, and half-involved in a conversation with Jamie and Cris about the inherent differences between Japanese pop and western pop. Kanani had stolen Izumi to poke fun at Irial while Cameron chatted with Max and Bas who’d both flown down with Harry and Rosie to see Bailey play his second Olympics.

           

Salem might have teared up at the sight, just a little, and he’d sent Bailey a picture from where he’d been on mandatory lockdown in Athlete’s Village with his team. Bailey’s only reply had been a plethora of smiley-tear emojis, which seemed an accurate enough description.

           

“What did I miss?” A new voice asked from behind, and Salem’s eyes went wide as he turned to find Charlie standing in aisleway, grinning at him brightly and his blond curls askew. He leaned down to press a kiss to Tasha’s and Katya’s cheeks in turn while Salem got up to hug him tightly.

           

“Didn’t think you’d be here. Aren’t you supposed to be on lockdown in London?”

           

“Mum helped me sneak out,” Charlie retorted.

           

“Um-hm,” Harry said from behind, and they both turned guiltily to find the fixer glaring at Charlie balefully. “Stay out of trouble.”

           

“Will do,” he grinned boyishly.

           

“Like I buy that bullshit,” Harry huffed.

           

“You’re like a wolf. Adorable but deadly,” Rosie told Charlie who rolled his eyes and plopped on Salem’s vacant chair. He scowled but Charlie grinned and pulled him into his lap, wrapping his arms around him and hooking his chin over his shoulder with a playful grin.

           

Harry rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair. “That’s going to make the news.”

           

“Try to chillax, Harry, yeah? You don’t have to be ‘on’ all the time,” Irial said gently.

           

“That’s like the literal definition of being a PR fixer,” Rosie pointed out.

           

Irial flipped her off, “Aren’t you so smart?” Cris grabbed his hands and pulled them into his lap hastily, eyes cutting to Alice and Topher.

           

Rhiannon glared at him. “Little eyes, Irial.”

           

“Oops?”

           

Rhiannon rolled her eyes while Jamie smothered laughter.

           

Harry glowered at Charlie and Salem. The latter rolled his eyes and rested the side of his head against Charlie’s temple, shifting in his lap and throwing an arm around Charlie’s neck as he met Harry’s eyes with a grin. “Think of it this way, then you’ll be able to force me to make a personal statement to the press about how I did not bring my secret lover to watch my boyfriend’s Olympic gold medal game and introduce him to our collective family and friends. Maybe I’ll even mention that we used to screw.”

           

“Someone has a death wish,” Rosie murmured to Irial and Cris who stifled laughter and nodded.

           

“I quit,” Harry threw up his hands. “Bloody hell. How are you both insane?”

           

“Have you met my mother? Natasha Petrovna. Or my grandmother, Katarina Petrovna. I mean the women in my family should explain it all.”

           

Tasha whistled, “I brought you into this world, Konstantin Daiki Kimura Petrov. I can take you out.”

           

“That sounded like a threat,” Irial pointed out. “Was that a threat?”

           

“Watch your business, boy,” Katya hissed.

           

Irial blanched and nodded, while Cris stifled a wide smile at his boyfriend’s expense that had Irial swatting him with a scowl. Michi, Katsu, Izumi, and Jamie dissolved into laughter, and Virginia put a hand over her mouth to hide her smile of amusement; Hikari simply her shook her head at the whole family though the slight quirk of her lips said she felt just as reassured and bemused about the whole event as the rest of the family.

           

Salem peeked around his father and Hikari to stare at James for a moment, his eyes following the game with pride and rapture though his face remained expressionless.

           

James’s arrival had been nearly as cloak-and-dagger as Charlie’s. He’d called two days earlier at nearly three in the morning, apparently uncaring about the nine-hour time difference, to say he’d be flying to Tokyo to come see Bailey play in the gold medal game and could Salem be kind enough to pick him up from the airport and maybe not tell Bailey.

           

The May general elections had placed him as the next British Prime Minister, and it had been a surprise to hear that in the midst of the transitioning chaos he’d be making the trip to see Bailey play. They’d been working on mending their relationship, but it still hadn’t even been a consideration that Bailey or Salem had entertained.

           

So he’d picked his boyfriend’s standoffish father up from the airport, cancelled his hotel reservations, and had had him stay at his and Bailey’s house with majority of Salem’s family and Cameron who’d introduced himself by crouching behind the bannister of the stairwell to study him with narrowed eyes.

           

“Come on! Come on! Come on!” Cameron hopped to his feet excitedly while Kanani reached over to grasp Salem’s arm in a bruising grip. Irial slapped his open palm on the back of a chair.

           

Bailey broke away with the ball and ran towards the goal for what would probably be the last attempt to tie up the game. He tangled up the defenders and made his way towards the goal swiftly where David de Gea shifted from foot to foot, tracking the motion and remaining in place, waiting for the kick.

           

Cameron cursed, “It’s not going on in.”

           

“Now who’s being a pessimist,” Virginia teased.

           

Cameron shook his head and pointed at the Spanish goalkeeper. “That’s how de Gea operates. He’s ready. He’ll block the shot, and we’re out of time.”

           

Of all of them, Cameron was the only one really capable of reading the game, and he wasn’t wrong. Bailey shot. De Gea put on a burst of speed and jumped outrageously high at an unbelievable angle to block the shot, and Salem could tell from Bailey’s body language that he’d both known that it wouldn’t be going in and that he’d had to try any case.

           

They’d been on the extra time in any case, and the game ended with the Spanish team cheering excitedly, De Gea being encased in a team-wide embrace, the captain, Sergio Ramos, laughing as he pulled the grinning goalkeeper into a hug.

           

From the distance, Salem could see Bailey, hands on his hips and his head shaking slightly, turning when Cahill came up behind him, slapping a hand on his shoulder with a good-natured grin. Bailey shook his head, a slight smile appearing on his face, and Salem relaxed as he watched his boyfriend laugh and shove Cahill away playfully, making his way to the rest of the team.

           

His eyes flickered up to the stand, tracking over them until his eyes met Salem’s. A weak but genuine half-smile flickered across his lips and Salem blew him a kiss teasingly, making Bailey laugh as he turned away.

           

“I told you,” Michi said, smiling impishly at Tasha and Katya.

           

“You’re a jinx, Michi,” John remarked while Michi gaped, and Katsu laughed.

           

“This family. No one’s allowed to talk anymore.”

           

“As self-proclaimed head of the family, I reject your proposal,” Katya remarked.

           

“You can’t do this! This is not a dictatoriship!” Michi pronounced.

           

“Right then, seconded,” Virginia nodded.

           

“Passed,” John nodded sagely. “The elders have spoken.”

           

“When did this become my life?” Michi whined.

           

Charlie giggled and looked to Salem. “You going to see your boy?”

           

“Yeah,” Salem nodded, getting to his feet and turning to face the assembled clan who watched him back expectantly. He hesitated under so many eyes, “Um…”

           

Tasha stood up and kissed him on the cheek. “Right, we’ll meet the pair of you at Kikko. The reservation’s at six. Don’t be late!”

           

Salem colored while most of his friends snickered. Damien shook his head at his mother’s complete lack of tact. “Mama, he has to do press. That’s all.”

           

“It better be.”

           

“I’m going.” Katsu and Michi laughed, and Irial gave him a cheerful goodbye wave as Harry nodded his head once in dismissal before turning his narrowed eyes on Charlie who seemed to shrink under the attention.

           

Salem fled.

           

By the time he’d maneuvered through the crowd and around the stadium, he found Bailey in flamboyant shimmering red Alexander McQueen trousers and an embroidered white button-up, his dark hair damp from his shower, and his bag balanced precariously on one shoulder as he tried to adjust his blazer.

           

Reaching out reflexively, Salem took the bag from him. Bailey startled, eyes wide, and fumbled with the black blazer for a moment before smiling up at him shyly. He tucked a wayward lock of hair behind his ear and rocked nervously back on the heels of his black buckle boots.

           

“You look like a walking ad for McQueen,” Salem couldn’t help but point out.

           

Bailey groaned and shook his head. “God, don’t remind me. Who thought it would be a good idea to make footballers dress ‘smart’ after playing?”

           

“It’s for press,” Cahill sing-songed as he walked out from behind Bailey. He jolted and bumped into Salem who wrapped an arm around his waist to steady him. Cahill stilled, his gaze darting between them before settling on Salem. “You two are very Posh and Becks right now.” He turned to Bailey with a smirk, “You’re Posh, mind you.”

           

“Fuck off.”

           

Cahill laughed and pointed a finger at Salem as he walked away. “Press in fifteen minutes! Don’t be late unless you want awkward question.”

           

“He’s lovely,” Salem smirked, tugging on his England scarf while Bailey smiled fondly and reached up to adjust the England knit cap atop Salem’s red and blue hair. Bailey sighed, and Salem half-smiled, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Is this where I hear the ‘we didn’t win’ speech?”

           

“We medaled,” Bailey shot back defensively.

           

“ _I_ know that. Silver in the Olympics isn’t exactly ‘losing.’” Bailey pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes on the wall over Salem’s shoulder. Salem could see him beating himself up for things beyond his control, for not winning when he still felt he had so much to prove. He pulled Bailey tighter against him until his warm chocolate eyes met Salem’s. “You still have the World Cup.”

           

Bailey looked thoughtful and nodded once. “That’s true.”

           

Salem laughed and pinched Bailey’s side. He yelped, and Salem giggled as he was pinned with a glare. “Besides, there’s always next time.”

           

“That’s also true.” His eyes darted to Salem with a sly, impish look to them as he asked, “You really want to stick with me through _another_ Olympics.”

           

“Okay, you _were_ intolerable weren’t you?”

           

Bailey slapped his shoulder, and Salem chuckled, catching his hand and pressing a kiss on the knuckles, “But, I mean, the last time, the post-Olympics sex was _so_ amazing…”

           

“We didn’t even know each other last time.”

           

Salem nodded, “I guess we’ll have to see how we hold up now.” Bailey’s gaze heated, lips curving wickedly as he pulled Salem’s head down into a heated kiss, tongues dancing, breaths shared, and hands wandering dangerously. Salem pulled back when he felt Bailey hardening against him, retucking the curl behind his ear. Bailey whined, pupils blown, and Salem pecked his lips, pulling back swiftly when Bailey tried for more. “No. No, you have press with the squad. And we have dinner with the family at five.”

           

Groaning exasperatedly, Bailey nipped at Salem’s throat, making his eyes roll back in his head. Salem bit his lip to stifle a moan as Bailey whispered into his ear. “Is press necessary?”

           

“Harry’s going to be there so…”

           

“Fuck,” Bailey cursed, hands wandering down Salem’s torso and playing teasingly with the waistband of his pants. “Family dinner? I really just want to stay here and fuck you or blow you.”

           

Salem laughed, “You _can_ do both.” Bailey hummed thoughtfully, and Salem grabbed his wrists and pulled them up, holding them against his chest to keep Bailey from tempting him any further. “But not _now_. Not unless you want to explain to our grandparents, my parents— _Tasha_ —and your father why we were late.”

           

Bailey froze and pulled back just slightly, his eyes alight but warring with some emotion Salem couldn’t name, his mouth dropped open slightly. “My _father_?”

           

Salem smiled and nodded, “He called me a couple days ago. He came down to see the gold medal game. He’s been staying with us at the apartment.”

           

Fighting a smile, Bailey nodded decisively and extricated himself from Salem, breathing in and out, straightening his shoulders, and saying, “Right. No sex.”

           

“Not this time.”

           

Bailey gave him a dirty look and shoved his shoulder as he stalked passed. Salem laughed, whirling on his heels and jogging to catch up. He grabbed Bailey’s hand, and his boyfriend squeezed tightly. “You’re such a tease, Konstantin.”

           

Laughing, Salem stopped as they reached the door to the pressroom, turning Bailey towards him. He smiled softly, ignoring the flashing cameras as he pulled Bailey towards, coy smile curving the ends of his lips, and kissed him chastely, murmuring against them, “I love you too, Arthur.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we're at the end. Kikko is an actual restaurant in Japan because they usually are, admittedly. Also Alexander McQueen is fucking expensive. I've never had sticker shock doing RESEARCH before but damn. I did. Fucking hell Bailey.
> 
> I'm going to post a short story about Kimberly Lakshmi from Some Kind of Serendipity next and then most likely another short story about Irial, Salem, Cris, and Bailey featuring Cameron unless I get my planning together super duper quickly and just dive right into Chaz and Pat's story. But that will definitely be out later this month unless I get bombarded with assignments at uni.
> 
> It's been amazing, I can't believe this is over. I'm sure for a while we all didn't think that I'd be finishing this story so thank you everyone for sticking with me and these characters. I'll be back super duper soon :)
> 
> P.S. I just updated this because I'm rereading them to kickstart possibly the fourth one...has it always weirdly cut off at a Tweet about picking up food? I thought I checked it but maybe not? How strange.


End file.
